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THE CAMEO LADY 

FRANCES ALLEN HARRIS 




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THE CAMEO LADY 


BY 

FRANCES ALLEN HARRIS 

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Publishers DORRANCE Philadelphia 




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COPYRIGHT 1922 
DORRANCE & COMPANY INC. 


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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

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TO 

THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER AND MOTHER 


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THE CAMEO LADY 

















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The Cameo Lady 

I 

It was a great thing to be grown up. It 
meant that I had come into the possession of 
a new world. It was just regal for every one 
to be doing this and that and the other because 
I was eighteen. For I was eighteen years old 
that mid-snmmer night, and my mother was 
giving me a party. I was a young lady then, 
and all the world would know it. Splendid! 
Everybody for miles around was coming to my 
party, and of course each person knew the 
reason for the party. Stella Battle was a young 
lady now. Oh, my! I glanced hastily at my 
much flounced and beribboned costume as I 
heard the clatter of horses r feet and the noise 
of buggy-wheels on the pike, and clapped my 
hands. 

“They are coming!” I exclaimed gayly. 

I tripped through the rooms to the front 
veranda and surveyed the yard. Out there 
Japanese lanterns seemed to be stars dropped 
down where one could see what they were really 
like while they went on with their light. Yet 
up above in the old places there were plenty 
left. Other vehicles sounded in the distance. 

II 


12 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“They were coming!” I danced across the 
long veranda to the music of my heart. There 
was no need for other, for somehow at that 
hour I was wild with joy. 

But there was other music. The band came. 
It was composed of amateur musicians, who at 
that time received numerous invitations from 
the people of the community who wished to 
lend encouragement to the new organization 
and also to get the benefit of the performances. 
In short, everybody came, it seemed, to do me 
honor on that occasion; at least, so I thought 
then. The house was full, and the yard was 
full. Both the young men and the maidens 
made beautiful little speeches to me, wishing I 
might live forever, or something to that effect, 
and enjoy every minute of the time. It was 
lovely! We had a long table stretched across 
the big living-room, from the northeast corner 
to the southwest corner, and not a vacant inch 
on it. Where so many things to eat ever came 
from no one but Mother ever knew, unless 
Father had an idea. The lamps and the candles 
and all the pretty dishes helped to create the 
glamor that prevailed. The guests stood 
around the room, against the wall, and every¬ 
where while they ate, for there were too many 
to find seats. I flitted about among them like a 
bird of the forest, never tarrying long at any 
one post; not that I was pretending to serve 
the repast, for that was done by capable hands. 
Chiefly, I was giving expression to my pleasure 
and the lightness of my heart. Once I encoun¬ 
tered Father, who accosted me with the words: 


THE CAMEO LADY 


13 


“'Why don’t yon have yonr company sit 
down? Shame to have folks stand up while 
they eat.” 

In answer, I threw my arms around his 
blessed neck and smacked him soundly in the 
neighborhood of his whiskers, and said: 

“Don’t you know that I don’t have anything 
to do with it all, except just to be eighteen? 
I am your young lady now, Daddy.” 

Father patted my head. 

“If you want to know about chairs, or any 
other such common articles, you must ask Big 
Sugar Lump; she knows. She and Mother have 
had their heads together for weeks, and I didn’t 
know until yesterday what it was all about.” 

“Oh! that’s all right, Uncle,” my big cousin 
explained. “Young people do not mind stand¬ 
ing.” 

Then she went on, edging her way through 
the crowd, with the dish that she was passing. 
But she called back: 

“I bet you have danced till four o’clock in 
the morning when you were young and didn’t 
know it was ten.” 

“Then plowed the next day,” my father an¬ 
swered. “What times the youngsters had those 
days! ’ ’ 

“They could hardly have done better then 
than I am doing now,” I put in. 

‘ 1 I don’t know about that. I think they did. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Couldn’t! Don’t contradict me now, or I ’ll 
buss you again before the company.” 

“Buss your old daddy all you please before 
you give some one of these young fellows the 


14 


THE CAMEO LADY 


right to buss you back. That’s the way of it. 
That’s the way it is. Fetch up a girl, spend 
your money on her, lay awake o’ nights, plan¬ 
ning, so things will come out right for her. 
Then about the time you are ready to enjoy 
your educated daughter, with her ministering 
to you, here comes along some wild buck or 
other, and she ups and throws herself away on 
him. ’ ’ 

1 ‘ Hush! ’ ’ called Big Sugar Lump from a dis¬ 
tant part of the room, ‘ < you shouldn’t talk that 
way. Why, didn’t you marry some man’s 
daughter? Don’t you think some other man 
then has a right to marry your daughter? 
Certainly he has. There may be a prospective 
here tonight. Who knows?” 

Significant giggling could be heard from a 
corner, but I didn’t look in that direction, for 
I knew well enough who was over there and 
why the crowd giggled. For people teased 
Emery Humphry about me, and they teased 
me about him. But, pshaw! Emmy was just 
a nice kind of boy. He wasn’t anything great 
like a sweetheart. Still people couldn’t tell 
about all that, I supposed, and we did have 
some good times together. Moreover, that very 
night he waited around until everybody else 
had left, and then he drew a little box out of 
his pocket and opened it and said: 

“I knew this was your birthday, though not 
many did until they got here. I knew how old 
you were, too. Now how do you like the pres* 
ent I have brought you?” 


THE CAMEO LADY 


15 


Emmy held up a tiny gold chain with a little 
heart-shaped locket on it. 

“I want you to keep this all your life, J ’ he 
went on to say. “Let’s put it on and see how 
it looks on you.” 

I gasped. At last I found my breath long 
enough to ejaculate: 

“Emmy, you don’t mean it!” 

“Yes, I do! This is a monstrous little ketch, 
but I believe it works all right. Here!” 

With the word he fastened the chain around 
my neck. 

“I do declare! How came you to think of 
such a fine present? A locket and chain! 
Gold?” 

“I don’t think it’s brass,” Emmy answered 
with a laugh. 

“Why, Emmy!” 

Then I removed the article to look at it my¬ 
self. 

“It’s a dear!” I exclaimed. “Oh, Emmy, 
Emmy!” 

I threw my arms around him and hugged 
him. Finally he managed to find a chance to 
say: 

“I am glad you like it.” Then he added: 
“You are the sweetest girl in the world, Stella. 
The very sweetest! I want you to keep this 
present all your life and remember that I gave 
it to you on your eighteenth birthday, and that 
we have been good friends and have had happy 
times together. The little gold heart signifies 
my sincere good wishes for you all your life.” 

“How lovely! Emmy, you’re a dear—that’s 


16 


THE CAMEO LADY 


what you are. For all my life! Beautiful gold 
heart to mean so much.” 

I kissed the little article that I held in my 
hand. 

4 ‘ They tell us that life holds a good many 
kinds of places for people,” Emmy stated, as if 
he were trying to recall a text. “We don’t 
know what’s before you, but I want my repre¬ 
sentative there to go with you. I hope the 
future may be as good as the past.” 

“Of course it will be! Emmy, you alarm 
me.” 

“No, no! not that. There, the old rooster is 
crowing. Late! I must go. ’’ 

He had reached the door when I called: 

“Emmy, oh, Emmy! Wait a minute. You 
know I am afraid I ought not to keep your 
present. I ’spose it would be all right and 
proper for just a little girl to, but you see I am 
a young lady now. I have heard—in fact, 
Mother has told me—that it wasn’t proper for 
a young lady to accept gifts of value from a 
gentleman unless—she was engaged to him.” 

Emmy laughed. I could hear another boyish 
laugh when he closed the yard gate. I lingered 
in the parlor a while, still resting my arms on 
the piano as I had been standing. Then I set 
about closing the blinds and putting out the 
light. When I reached my chamber upstairs 
my cousin was there and my mother was in the 
act of leaving the room. 

“Everything went off grand,” said Big 
Sugar Lump. “You are just about the pret¬ 
tiest eighteen year old girl I ever saw. Come 


THE CAMEO LADY 


17 


here and let Big Sugar Lump give you a 
thousand kisses. Aunt Jessamine, didn’t she 
carry out everything like a queen? Weren’t 
you proud of her?” 

44 I reckon Stella knows that she is very 
much loved and admired in her home and in her 
community, too. I wouldn’t have her different 
from what she is if I could change her. ’ ’ 

44 You wouldn’t? Mother dear!” 

I flew at the dear soul and showered her with 
kisses. I hung over her shoulder some little bit, 
wanting to make a confession, and then decid¬ 
ing to postpone it. 

4 4 Good night, ’ ’ said my mother at last. 4 4 You 
have had a happy childhood, dear. May the 
coming years hold no trial or sorrow, except 
such as may be necessary to enrich your spirit. 
God bless you!” 

As Mother went down the hall, I dropped into 
a chair within my room and burst out crying. 

4 4 What on earth is the matter ? ’ ’ Big Sugar 
Lump inquired with concern. 

I did not answer at once, but finally I said: 

4 4 1 don’t know exactly, Big Sugar Lump, but 
I feel all upset in my feelings. I think it’s be¬ 
cause I am a young lady now. I don’t know 
that it’s so grand after all. Just think, I have 
left off being a child—can’t ever be one any 
more—and I like being a child and having you 
all love me and make over me and everything. 
Must put on dignity now and act grown up, I 
suppose. Oh, my!” 

Big Sugar Lump laughed and tried to com¬ 
fort me by saying: 


18 


THE CAMEO LADY 


4 ‘Don’t worry; you are not so very much 
grown up yet.” 

Big Sugar Lump was like an elder sister. 
She stayed at our house much of the time. She 
was left a widow when young. She was big both 
in body and in heart. Like every one else at 
the old home, she was always a part of my life. 

That night when I heard her snoring I slipped 
quietly from the room to the roof of the ver¬ 
anda, where I lay down and looked into the vast, 
starry dome above me, and wondered about 
everything in general and my own life in par¬ 
ticular. A screech-owl and a tree-frog rendered 
a duet from the big trees on the lawn. The 
water at the bottom of the low hill gently mur¬ 
mured as it moved along its course. I had no 
intention of going to sleep out there, but I must 
have done so, for, by and by, I heard Philip 
calling the cows, and I opened my eyes on the 
early dawn. 


II 


Somewhat to my astonishment I found life 
going on about the same, even if I’d had an 
eighteenth birthday. At least it did so for a 
time. Then there came a change. I became 
occupied with visitors, leaving off books and 
piano practice, too, to a great extent. I enter¬ 
tained friends from afar and near. I had only 
to say, “Mother, so and so will be here on a 
certain day, ’ ’ to find the house in readiness and 
a feast spread for the occasion. A carriage was 
always at my beck and call. It seemed the 
pleasure of my parents to keep something of an 
open house on my account. I heard nothing of 
its being taxing or burdensome. So I spent my 
days for a while, cultivating the best society of 
our locality, and, in turn, being cultivated by it. 
Young men came to call; a goodly number of 
them. Nor did they stop with a single visit. I 
enjoyed talking with them, if they were attrac¬ 
tive, and they frequently were. I made friends 
among them, but I said, “Halt,” when the 
sweetheart line was approached. I didn’t know 
that I wanted to have anything to do with sweet¬ 
hearts. A sweetheart seemed an encroachment 
on freedom and independence. I loved both. 
My! I suppose I was generally spoiled and 
selfish. If the young men had really known me, 
they would likely have halted of their own ac- 
19 


20 


THE CAMEO LADY 


cord before they reached the danger line. How¬ 
ever, they continued to gather around me. I 
was vivacious. In short, I had more beaux than 
you could shake a stick at. I wondered myself 
why it was so, for I took no pride in being a 
conqueror of hearts. Indeed I made no con¬ 
scious effort in that way. Such attentions 
seemed only a part of the fullness of life—a 
natural part—that came to me then. Little did 
I know, could I know, what a fountain of 
strength and comfort all that I received in those 
days, of kindness and love and admiration, 
would afterwards mean to me. But they became 
the jewels indestructible that I carried in my 
breast. Fortune often chooses a long and wind¬ 
ing way to gain its ends. So it chose with me. 

A year after my birthday party I had ad¬ 
vanced very much in my knowledge of people 
and in my way of thinking. I was really a little 
more grown up, though Big Sugar Lump de¬ 
clared that I was of the sort that never grew 
up entirely, no matter how many years went 
by. Big Sugar Lump kept up with me and my 
beaux, offering me friendly advice as she saw 
fit. One day she asked me rather abruptly: 

“Stella, do you ever think of getting mar¬ 
ried V 9 

“Of course not,” I answered. 

“Of course not!” 

“Why should I want to get married! I have 
everything and I live with the people I love 
best and who love me best. ’ 9 

“You have got an old head in some ways 
after all, but, my dear girl, things here will 


THE CAMEO LADY 


21 


change. They cannot always stay as they are 
now. Time brings changes, perhaps slowly, but 
certainly surely. By and by your home here 
will be different.” 

I was silent and thoughtful for a while. At 
length I said: 

“I cannot see what good could come of my 
marrying.’ ’ 

“Why, a husband is the dearest friend you 
can have in this world. ’’ 

‘ ‘ Oh my! a husband would be a nuisance. ’ ’ 

“The very dearest friend. I know, because 
I was very happy with mine the six months 
that he lived.” 

46 Six months! But I’d probably get one that 
would live for sixty years. ’ 9 

Big Sugar Lump opened her mouth in horror 
and looked at me over her embroidery frames. 

I scrambled up from the floor where I was 
sitting and put my arms around her neck, 
patted her hair and kissed her forehead. 

“I suppose I seem awfully wicked,” I said. 
“I’m sorry for you, but it would be dreadful 
to me to be tied to a man for ever and ever.” 

“No, it wouldn’t. If he were kind to you, 
you would grow to love him better and better. 
Don’t you know how dependent married people 
are upon each other ? Haven’t you noticed! 
Neither is much account without the other.” 

I turned away and went to the window. A 
new idea was forming in my brain. Afterwards 
I looked among my acquaintances for the pos¬ 
sible husband, but I ended for a time, at least, 
by shaking my head over results. He wasn’t 


22 


THE CAMEO LADY 


there. One afternoon Emmy came to take me 
driving. Said he was breaking his young horse 
to the buggy and wanted to get in some training. 
Mother heard the conversation, and called out: 

“Emery, you will break Stella’s neck yet. 
Is your horse wild?” 

“No’m! He’s just shy and needs to get 
used to the harness; that’s all.” 

Every now and then that young man came 
along with a horse he was trying to break, and 
Mother stood in dread of the occasions. She 
said she believed driving wild horses was Em¬ 
my’s chief form of recklessness, but she wished 
he wouldn’t insist upon taking me along. I 
was always glad to go, for Emmy could manage 
the animals and I enjoyed the sport. That 
afternoon Mother followed to see how the horse 
behaved. Emmy drove toward the stile where 
I was standing, and, as the horse came opposite, 
he suddenly rose to his hind feet, showing every 
intention of traveling in that position. Emmy’s 
face got pretty red. Finally, he turned, letting 
the horse face the opposite direction, and called 
out: 

“Stella, please come here and get in; the 
horse doesn’t like the stile.” 

As I jumped to the ground Mother an¬ 
nounced : 

‘ 1 She’s not going! You’d better stay your¬ 
self, Emery Humphry. That horse will kill 
you. ’ ’ 

“Oh, no’m!” declared Emmy; “lie’s just shy 
and unused to driving. He will tame down 


THE CAMEO LADY 


23 


soon. Come on, Stella, please; you see he’s 
restless.’’ 

6 ‘No, she won’t come on,” called out Mother. 
“I tell you you’ll break her neck.” 

“Please, Mother,” I begged. “I am not 
afraid. Emmy knows all about horses. He can 
handle the creature.” 

With that I ran to the buggy and succeeded 
at last in finding the vehicle still long enough 
for me to risk the climb. As the horse pranced 
off, I waved to Mother, and she shook her fist 
at me. However, after getting fairly on the 
road, the animal went along in a manner that 
would have given even my anxious parent small 
chance for complaint. But the main thing that 
I set out to tell was what occurred that after¬ 
noon between Emmy and me. I had had it on 
my mind to talk to Emmy about the idea that 
Big Sugar Lump put into my head that other 
day. I had always found that he had pretty 
good judgment. So, on the way home, I was 
just about to open the subject when Emmy 
turned his face to me and said: 

“Stella, we are both getting older.” 

“Yes,” I admitted. 

“Have you ever thought about it’s being time 
for us to settle in life?” 

“Yes, a little.” 

“When I see our friends marrying off, it puts 
me to thinking about what I am going to do.” 

I was silent and the least bit alarmed. I 
didn’t want Emmy to say anything like that and 
spoil our friendship. So I hurried up. 


24 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“Why, yon seem to be doing very well,” I 
remarked. 

4 4 But I said, 4 about what I am going to do. ’ 
You needn’t try to side-track me. For I have 
had my mind made up that I would ask you 
what you thought of me for a husband. You 
needn’t hurry with your answer. Of course this 
is sudden and surprising to you. ’ ’ 

I laughed a little. 

44 We have been friends all our lives,” Emmy 
ran on. 44 I have just enjoyed your friendship 
without thinking much about the outcome. But 
now someone else may come along and take you 
away. ’ ’ 

44 How strange such talk seems.” 

As I made the remark I felt the blood rushing 
to my face. 

4 4 Well, it does, ’ ’ admitted Emmy. 4 4 But what 
else can I do? I don’t want anybody else to 
have you. Still, I am not in a position to offer 
to marry you at once. You have always been 
accustomed to plenty, and I wouldn’t want to 
starve you. I intend to make good though. In 
the meantime you might be thinking of me in 
the light of your future husband. Don’t you 
think you can?” 

44 Mercy, Emmy, I couldn’t think of you in so 
detestable a way as I think of my future hus¬ 
band, if I am to have one. Why, I despise him— 
my future husband! The great old nuisance, 
always in my way, and probably telling me what 
I shall do and what I shall not do, as if I 
haven’t done as I pleased all my life.” 

44 Ha, ha! So you despise him, do you? Your 


THE CAMEO LADY 


25 


future husband. Well, I don’t bid for any of 
that. I’d want my wife to think a lot of me.” 

“I think a lot of you, Emmy, for that mat¬ 
ter.” 

“Well, then, just don’t bother about the other 
for a while. We will go along having good 
times together as we have always done. By 
the way, Grover Folk will be at our house soon. 
He is some sort of cousin. A young doctor. 
Pretty smart fellow, I reckon. I’d like to bring 
him down to see you while he is here. ’ ’ 

“Very well.” 

When Emmy bade me goodbye that evening, 
for evening had come when we reached home, 
he did what he had never done before—he car¬ 
ried my hand to his lips and afterwards pressed 
it against his cheek. I wondered what book 
Emmy got that out of. I was amused and a lit¬ 
tle depressed too, for the act must have been 
a regular lover-like one—so I supposed. 


Ill 


A few days later I was wandering along the 
banks of the creek, plucking leaves of the pep¬ 
permint that grew there in wild profusion, when 
I saw our horse and sled coming down the road. 
As they drew nearer I noticed that the driver 
was a stranger. Philip! What had become of 
Philip? Watching then I saw that he lay 
stretched at full length on the boards across 
the sled. Something had happened. The party 
passed through the big gate toward the house, 
and I left off gathering the mint and followed. 
The sled stopped, and the driver proceeded to 
fasten the horse to the hitching-post near. 
Philip rose to a sitting posture, and his com¬ 
panion called out: 

4 ‘Wait. Better let me help you.” 

‘ 4 What on earth?” I asked. “Philip, what 
have you done to yourself that you need to get 
your head bound up like that ? ” 

‘ ‘ Ask him, ’ ’ Philip answered, pointing to the 
stranger. “I don’t recollect. Tears I can’t 
tell much about it, but I felt a mighty heap for 
a little bit.’ ’ 

The stranger finished tying the horse, and 
then turned to me, lifting his hat, and said: 

“I was strolling along the pike this side of 
the Humphry home where I am visiting, and, 
as the sled drew near, the horse began kicking 
26 


THE CAMEO LADY 


27 


and struck the young man on the head. Made 
a deep gash—knocked him senseless for a time. 
The gears were broken and sliding off the ani¬ 
mal. When I got them tied up the horse quieted 
down and quit his kicking. Then I got to the 
young man.” 

“Well, I would have gone for him first and 
let the horse kick. Much hurt, you say? You 
must be Doctor Folk.” 

4 4 Folk is my name, and I happen to be a bit of 
a physician.’ ’ 

4 4 Fortunate for Philip. ’’ 

4 4 I’d better assist the young man to the house, 
and give the wound a little better attention 
than I had the facilities for doing in the road.” 

Philip Shredds had lived in the home and 
worked on the farm since he was little more 
than a child. In a sense he was treated as a 
member of the family. He was at that time in 
his early twenties, uneducated beyond the abil¬ 
ity to read and write and solve a simple problem 
in addition or subtraction. He was smooth¬ 
faced ; that is, on Sundays, when he was shaven. 
He had a shambling gait, which may have been 
due partly to the style of shoes that he wore. 
He was warm-hearted and weak-headed. Poor 
Philip! Kind Philip! 

When the surgical duties were at an end that 
afternoon, it seemed expected by the family 
who had gathered around that I take charge of 
the surgeon. So I invited the gentleman to the 
veranda, and asked him to be seated. But 
Father followed in a few minutes, and the con¬ 
versation was supported by the two men, chiefly 


28 


THE CAMEO LADY 


by Father. For when Dad took a notion to talk 
there was small need for any one else to try. 
Nor did a person often wish to do more than 
listen. Daddy was interesting; so I thought. 
He knew a lot and told it with a zest that be¬ 
spoke his backbone. Nobody ever accused him 
of having a cotton string for his backbone. 
What he believed, he believed, and you were 
made pretty sure of it. He talked to the doctor 
that afternoon, for he was grateful and pleased 
at the behavior of the gentleman. So I didn’t 
get a chance to say much more than to ask the 
visitor if he would have water when I passed it. 
For the most part I sat mute, on a bench behind 
the vines, until the doctor left. From the same 
point, I watched him go down the walk—a tall 
man. When he turned to latch the gate, I could 
see his face. It was a strong face—intelligent; 
but I had seen handsomer faces. Now he was 
the chap of course that Emmy proposed bring¬ 
ing to call on me in state. I wondered if he 
would be back to look after the patient. 

I suppose I had just as well tell it now as 
at any time. He did come back to see the pa¬ 
tient, and he and Father had another long talk, 
and he left me out of the ring again. What 
do you think of that? Still, I didn’t hang 
round where I feared he would think I was try¬ 
ing to get a word with him. He even dropped 
down in the living-room one day where he had a 
talk with Mother. In fact, he had pretty good 
reason to feel very much at home there, and I 
believe he did so, for all the family were wild 
about him. I said all the family, but of course 


THE CAMEO LADY 


29 


I couldn’t be included. I wondered if Emmy 
ever would bring him to call properly. He 
never did. He said afterwards that he didn’t 
see any use when a fellow could introduce him¬ 
self the way Grover Folk could. Well, it was 
funny. Doctor Folk got to riding around with 
Father; Father was showing him the country. 
He could have walked off with the place, or 
very nearly have done so, without any one’s 
raising an objection. It was a new sensation— 
that of my being wholly ignored. To tell the 
whole truth, I was a trifle indignant. One after¬ 
noon I was sitting on the hillside of the lawn 
with a book on my lap, reading. I liked to read, 
and read a good deal in those days. I looked 
up and saw the figure of a man coming along 
the pike. I watched to see if it were he. Yes; 
that’s just who it was. I decided I wouldn’t 
run, nor would I take any notice of him. I 
would go on with my reading just the same as 
if he were not around. Why shouldn’t I? So 
I pinned my eyes to the book, figuratively 
speaking, and became thereby irresponsible for 
the young man’s having to stand a good while, 
waiting to see if I would speak to him. But I 
felt the presence of a person near, and so I 
lifted my eyes, and there he was. 

* 4 Your book must be interesting,” he re¬ 
marked. 

“Oh! very,” I answered with a toss of my 
head. 

“What are you reading?” 

I hesitated a minute, and then I answered in 
a polite, apologetic tone of voice: 


30 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“None of yonr business.’’ 

‘ ‘ Ah! I beg pardon.’ 9 

Then he removed his hat and ran his fingers 
through his hair, which was brown and a little 
long, and laughed a good-natured, lazy laugh. 
Afterwards he sat down beside me, and pretty 
soon took my book and turned the leaves and 
held it the rest of the time in his hands. He 
spoke of books, with which he seemed to have 
an intimate acquaintance, and drew me out to 
talk of various matters. I said nothing that 
was in any way worth repeating for its wisdom, 
as any one would know. I just had a good time. 
Must I confess it? At length the visitor handed 
me the book, remarking he had come to say 
goodbye to the household, as he would return to 
the city on the morrow. He rose and waited, 
as though he expected me to rise also; but I 
didn’t. I said: 

“You will doubtless find Mother in the living- 
room, and she can tell you about Father and the 
others.” 

He laughed a little, and made the request: 

“You will not run away till I come back, will 
you ? Please . 9 9 

The truth of it was I didn’t want to run away 
if I could keep friends with myself and stay. 
I didn’t do any reading in the meantime, but 
doubtless I appeared rooted to the spot. A 
little later the gentleman returned, but he made 
no signs of sitting down again, and I gave him 
no invitation to do so. I rose quite promptly 
and said: 

“So you think of leaving tomorrow? You 


THE CAMEO LADY 


31 


certainly have done a good turn to Philip since 
you have been here. ’ ’ 

‘ i He is all right now. ’ ’ 

“ Scarcely expected to put your profession 
into practice while you were on your visit, did 
you ? ” 

“Glad I happened along. Besides it’s given 
me such pleasure to know your family. One 
seldom meets a strong character like your 
father, or a sweet woman like your mother. 
You ought to be—say, I want to know why we 
haven’t got better acquainted?” 

“Probably you haven’t thought of it.” 

“That’s the truth. Hope we may meet again 
some day,” he added hurriedly, and thrust out 
his hand. 

He went on his way, and I turned and walked 
slowly to the house. 

“Consarn it!” I said to myself, though I 
didn’t mean to let it get out that I said such a 
thing. “That man captures me. No, he doesn’t. 
I am mad. The idea of his not thinking of try¬ 
ing to get acquainted with me! Well, he doesn’t 
know how much I like him. I didn’t let that 
out. Nobody knows. Thank goodness! ” 

The days went by. That fall I visited a school 
friend in a town some fifty miles away. I apol¬ 
ogize for talking so much about myself, when 
I know it’s bad manners, and when I also know 
about more interesting people, but I do so, I 
suppose, because 1 am interested in myself and 
in the tricks that life has played me. To go on 
then, provided I am pardoned for doing so, I 
would mention that I met a dapper young blade 


32 


THE CAMEO LADY 


of that town. It is of no use to speak of all the 
people I met. It’s enough to hang to the ones 
who served in the molding of my destiny. 

The young gentleman belonged to one of the 
first families of the place; indeed, to a promi¬ 
nent family of the state. He was an only child. 
His father was a politician. He wore good 
clothes, had easy manners, and was popular in 
the society of the town. He went with me to a 
few parties, and, in fact, came to monopolize 
my time. He didn’t seem to have much busi¬ 
ness, if any, to attend to, though I didn’t think 
of that then. We girls could always depend on 
him to go with us to places. When the time 
came for me to return home, the young man 
boarded the train and went with me—went all 
the way. I wondered what Mother would think 
when she saw me bringing a gentleman back 
with me. Still we were used to young men at 
our house; they didn’t frighten any one. Rufus 
Dale was the name of that beau. He was fair- 
haired, though he kept his hair cropped so 
close to his head that the skin became a rival for 
prominence. He had regular features, which 
might have produced a pleasing countenance 
if it all had not been spoiled by a wart on his 
nose. It was a shame that a wart, a small thing 
like a wart, could hinder the love of a maiden 
for a man who called upon all the powers there 
were to attest to the height and depth of his 
affection for her. At least, I told myself it was 
the wart. I didn’t know what else it could be. 


IV 


Big Sugar Lump made up her mind that we 
were going to have a wedding. I did not think 
of it that way then, but the truth of the situation 
came to me afterwards when I had had more 
experience in the world. She thought she had 
good reasons for deciding to have the wedding. 
She said I had been running around long 
enough, and it was time for me to get settled. 
When I had a good chance I ought to take it and 
be done with it. There was young Dale coming 
all that way to see me and writing to me every 
day. Where was I going to do better? He 
was only a young fellow himself, but his father 
was a prominent man. I would be making a 
good match—one that my family would be proud 
of. I ought to know it. Sometimes Big Sugar 
Lump made me feel that I had much to learn. 
That idea was enforced then when I com¬ 
plained : 

“But I do not love him.” 

“You will learn to love him, you little 
goosey, ’’ declared Big Sugar Lump. 

“Suppose I shouldn’t?” 

“Well, dear, all people do not regard love as 
essential to marriage. If persons are fairly 
congenial and circumstances suit, that is all 
many ask. One cannot have everything at once 
on this mundane sphere; you ought to learn 
33 


34 


THE CAMEO LADY 


that. I wouldn’t see yon unhappy for anything, 
but I don’t believe you will be if you marry 
Rufus Dale. ’ ’ 

So I listened to one argument and then an¬ 
other from her until I began to think I would 
marry. For, as I looked at it, I could see that 
love was not the only consideration. Take Em¬ 
my for instance. He said he loved me, but he 
wasn’t able yet to support me. I reviewed the 
situation as much as my little head was capable 
of doing. I sat up in my room one night, trying 
to think things over and arrive at a decision, 
when I heard Philip come through the yard 
gate, whistling. As he passed around the house, 
I thrust my head out of the window, and called: 

44 Any mail, Philip? Any letters for me, I 
mean?” 

Philip had been to the village, and at the post 
office, and was then getting back. 

44 A letter for you,” he answered. 

4 4 Wait.” 

I procured a long string, tied a small weight 
to it. Holding the other end in my hand, I 
dropped the weight to the ground. 

44 Tie my letter on this string, Philip,” I 
ordered. 

Philip laughed and obeyed. I drew up the 
letter, and of course read it. It was from Rufus 
Dale. I might as well tell that he was urging 
me to marry him, and his letter coming at that 
particular time decided me to accept the offer. 
On the next day I was plucking pansies from 
a bed in the garden when Philip entered with a 
hoe. He passed me on his way to the work 


THE CAMEO LADY 


35 


which he had come in to do, and then stopped a 
minute and inquired: 

4 ‘Was your letter from the doctor?” You 
don’t mind my asking, do you?” 

“Well, no, Philip; but it wasn’t from the 
doctor. ’ ’ 

“Don’t he ever write?” 

4 4 Doctor Folk, you mean ? Your doctor ? Why 
should he be writing to me?” 

“Why shouldn’t he? Don’t everybody write 
to you? He ought to, too. I wisht he would. I 
would go after his letters every night.” 

“Well, you won’t have to go for them.” 

I plucked pansies a little faster, perhaps. 

“Say, Stella, you ought to marry him. He’s 
the best one that’s been around.” 

“Because he sewed up your head you needn’t 
think he dropped any extra brains into it. Go 
along to your hoeing, Philip; in offering me ad¬ 
vice you are undertaking more than is neces¬ 
sary. ’ ’ 

“But now and then Philip knows a thing or 
two. You had better listen to him. You may 
be sorry for it some day if you don’t.” 

“Philip, go on to your work. I’ll look after 
my own affairs, if you please.” 

Philip moved away slowly, saying: 

“Well, you won’t listen to me; but you ought 
to take him.” 

Very soon preparations for the wedding be¬ 
gan. It was decided that I should have a wed¬ 
ding befitting the daughter of the home. Big 
Sugar Lump was in her glory. She enjoyed 
bustle and excitement anyhow. Now when a 


36 


THE CAMEO LADY 


wedding was the occasion, oh, my! The big 
cousin had good taste in such matters as were 
under consideration, and Mother deferred to 
her. 

As for Mother, I think she sighed over it 
all a little, and then smiled and put the best 
foot foremost. 

4 4 The time comes into the life of every 
woman,” she would say, “or of most women, 
at any rate. So it’s come to our little girl. 
Natural and right, of course.” 

Father went about talking little. As far as 
I could judge, there was something to which 
he could not become reconciled. I began to 
believe that he disliked the young man, for 
which I secretly respected him the more. He 
would not say anything, however, thinking that 
I had made my choice. 

I was in several different frames of mind 
myself, sometimes singly and sometimes all at 
once. I sat up at night, wondering if I would 
marry that man. Circumstances were fast clos¬ 
ing in on me. I had read somewhere of cir¬ 
cumstances closing in on a character. I thought 
of the story, and decided that the author must 
have had a view of life from the same angle 
that I had. Sometimes I cried out, “Is there no 
escape for me?” Again I would say, “Grover, 
Grover Folk, you could rescue Philip—but you 
wouldn’t turn your hand over for me.” 

Again I wondered what poverty with Emmy 
would be like. If it would be very bad. In 
spite of the preparations, I was not sure what 
I was going to do. I did not want to act in any 


THE CAMEO LADY 


37 


way that would bring either disgrace or sorrow 
to the family. Yet I did not know just what I 
would do. I inquired of inanimate things about 
the place that I loved if it were not wicked to 
marry without love, and what I was to do. So 
the weeks passed. Preparations for the wed¬ 
ding went on. Letters from my fiance poured 
in upon me. Finally presents began to arrive. 
Something would have to happen. I couldn’t 
marry that man. I just couldn’t! More than 
once Big Sugar Lump said to me: 

“Don’t frown that way, dear. A bride ought 
to look cheerful and happy. ’ ’ 

“Big Sugar Lump, you are asking me to be 
a regular, downright hypocrite; that’s what you 
are doing.” 

“You are not troubling over love, are you?” 
she would inquire in tones of surprise. 

“How can I help it?” 

“Now don’t, dear. You must be happy on 
your wedding day. What a beautiful wedding 
it will be, so appropriate for the ending of your 
girlhood days. A credit, too, to your family, 
showing their wishes for your having the best 
of everything. A girl should be happy to have 
a wedding like yours whether there is any bride¬ 
groom at all or not. Ha, ha! Cheer up, now, 
dear. We don’t want you looking like that. 
Well! I have enjoyed the preparations.” 

“You have worked pretty hard for your fun, ’ ’ 
I said, with something like a smile. 

“Oh, I don’t mind work, you know. I don’t 
see how I ever come to grow so fat when I have 
hardly been idle a minute in my life. You have 


38 


THE CAMEO LADY 


had a beautiful girlhood, dear, and now you are 
going to have a beautiful wedding, and you must 
look your own beautiful self. Now I must go. 
I hear your mother calling. There is a cake 
in the stove.” 

We were in my room at that time. As the 
door banged after my cousin, I thought: “I’ll 
be the only thing at the wedding to spoil it.” 
A sigh escaped me. But I did nothing positive¬ 
ly disgraceful until the morning of the eventful 
day. Then I looked up Philip and asked him 
to saddle my horse. 

Philip showed surprise. After a little, he 
said: 

“What is it? I jet me do it for you.” 

“I must do the thing myself, Philip. Saddle 
my horse and bring him around to the stile.” 

I hurried back to the house and put on my 
riding-habit. When I saw Philip leading the 
horse from the barn I slipped out of the house, 
trying to attract no attention. Philip’s face was 
a study as he held the horse for me, but he did 
not speak a word. I rode down the pike until I 
came near the Humphry home. There I 
stopped, for Emmy was building a fence near 
the road. I was glad I did not have to go to 
the house and ask for him. But I had not 
thought where I would find him. I just had to 
see him; that was all. I drew up the bridle 
and stopped. 

Emmy showed awkwardness in lifting his 
great straw hat. His cheeks were flushed from 
the exercise in which he had been engaged. A 
fringe of his dark hair could be seen under his 


THE CAMEO LADY 


39 


hat brim. His brown eyes looked on me tender¬ 
ly. His head came well above the finished piece 
of stone fence at which he had been working. 
My old friend leaned against the same stone 
wall and thrust his inquiry at me by means of 
his facial expression. I felt my cheeks burning. 
But there I was and I must speak. At last I 
found the courage to say, “Emmy!” Then I 
broke into crying. I was ashamed of having 
come. Then Emmy asked: 

“What is it? Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Tell 
me what it is. If I can help you in any way, 
you know I’ll do it. I don’t know what I am 
going to do anyhow after you are married. I 
am afraid I’ll not be able to keep on here with 
the farm.” 

“Emmy, you say you are not ready to 
marry?” 

He looked surprised at the question, and 
waited for me to speak further. 

“The truth is,” I continued, “I don’t be¬ 
lieve it’s possible for me to marry Rufus Dale. 
You see how near the time is for the wedding. 
Tonight! I came to ask you what I must do.” 

Now that wasn’t what I had come for at all; 
but I fibbed around until I let Emmy know 
what I had actually come for. 

“Why, I don’t see but one thing for you to 
do now,” Emmy answered, “and that’s to go 
on and make the best of it. I wish I had been 
born rich, and then I could offer you what you 
ought to have, and maybe things would have 
been different.” 


40 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“Do you think poverty would be so very 
bad?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, my land, yes! I wouldn’t have my wife 
live on what I am able to give her for anything. 
Besides, the extra expense would hinder me 
from getting a start in the world. Got to use 
your sense about marrying as well as about 
other matters.” 

“Emmy, you’ll be a man that we’ll all be 
proud of some day. You ought not to be hin¬ 
dered. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 1 am not going to be. Don’t you worry. ’ ’ 

“Would I hinder very much,” I asked, “if 
I’d live on bread and water?” 

‘‘Do you really mean what you imply? ’’ 

4 ‘ Every bit of it. I can’t marry that man. I 
don’t know what to do.” 

Emmy hesitated for a minute, and then he 
said: 

“All right, then. Love goes ahead of busi¬ 
ness.” 

Suddenly I declared: 

“It doesn’t either. It would not be good 
sense in your eyes. Goodbye. Be sure to come 
to the wedding. ’ ’ 

I turned my horse’s head toward home. 

“Hold on, Stella,” I heard. 

Emmy climbed over the fence, and stood by 
my horse. 

“Stella, you make me miserable,” he said. 
“I intend to be there tonight, for that matter. 
If you should change your mind again—at the 
last minute—and want me, why, all right.” 

‘ ‘ Thank you. Goodbye. ’ ’ 


V 


My husband took me to live with his parents. 
The house looked big enough and I made no 
objection. For somehow I felt like seaweed 
subjected to the lashing of the waves around 
me, from which there was no escape. Hovrever, 
I began by and by to think of a change in the 
manner of receiving what came my way. I 
found that passing through a lot of mental 
agony, because I was not pleased, was injuring 
my health and rendering me a generally unde¬ 
sirable specimen of humanity. So I determined 
upon some self-reform. But I did not come to 
that decision until after the birth of my baby. 
How much I regretted that I had not! For I 
believe that I might have done a good deal to¬ 
ward preventing the invalidism of my child if 
I had done so. The effect of my mental atti¬ 
tude ; at least, that was my idea. Yet I found 
a grain of comfort in recalling the fact that 
circumstances beyond my control had much to 
do with my marriage. I must, even at that 
late day, get hold of my life by some handle or 
other. There was another life now dependent 
upon me. 

The appeal of a child awakened within me 
numberless unknown possibilities of my nature. 
It gave me a kind of strength for handling 
matters that affected me—a feeling that I must 
41 


42 


THE CAMEO LADY 


do so for baby’s sake at least. The clinging of 
those tiny fingers to mine caused me to stick 
to my own opinions about a thing, if I had any. 
If I had none, I set to work to form them. I 
had often heard of the marvelous feats of 
mother-love, for the child, but I had failed to 
hear much of what it did for the mother herself. 
I found there was something to say about that. 
For I determined to rise above the lash of the 
waves, and, instead of being beaten about by 
the tides, I would master my own destiny. It 
was not an easy job that I set for myself. Still 
I shall not anticipate. My chief concern came 
to be for my child. So the effect of a certain 
conversation with my husband’s father was not 
surprising. 

One day, as I sat in the broad hall with Baby 
in my arms, Judge Dale came out of the library 
and stood near the doorway, looking on, while 
he finished with his gloves. He did not often 
show me attention, and so I wondered a little 
what was behind that. The judge was a large 
man, with heavy, shaggy brows and deep-set 
eyes. He carried with him the atmosphere of 
having just come from His Satanic Majesty. I 
always felt the need of a breath of pure, fresh 
air after he passed. I’d as soon he would have 
gone on that time as to stand there looking at 
me, so I could have the quicker got over my fit. 
He asked me how Baby was coming on, making 
several impertinent inquiries regarding her de¬ 
formity. Then he delivered his mind. 

“It would be better if the child were dead,” 
he said. “In such cases it’s but the essence 


THE CAMEO LADY 


43 


of humanity to let the subject die in infancy.’’ 

1 gasped. I felt as if I might fall out of my 
chair. 

“You will waste your time and your strength 
on that child, with absolutely nothing to gain, 
except the chance of prolonging a life for 
misery. ’ ’ 

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words 
froze. 

1 ‘ It should have died with its first breath. It 
will never be able to walk.” 

“Sir, you are speaking to the mother,” I 
found the strength at last to say. 

“I am its grandfather. I foresee doctors’ 
bills, all to no purpose.” 

After having thus delivered himself, he left. 
I felt that I must get back to my own room, for 
there I was a little more secure from unpleasant 
encounters. It was there where I spent most of 
my time. The room was large. In fact, it was 
so large that the furniture looked as if it were 
making a failure of its duty. 

“ Ugh! ” I spoke aloud on that occasion. 1 i A 
nice grandfather he is. If he were different 
how much it would mean to us.” 

After a little a tap sounded on the door, and 
a harsh feminine voice spoke about the same 
time. 

“I haven’t seen the baby this morning. I 
thought I would come in. ’ ’ 

During the visit the question was asked: 

“You haven’t decided on a name yet, have 
you 1 ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes!” I answered. “Grace.” 


44 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“Grace?” my mother-in-law answered. 

“Grace?” my mother-in-law repeated. 

That was all she said for a few moments, then 
she added: 

“Why didn’t you choose some more appro¬ 
priate name? People will crticise her for hear¬ 
ing the name of Grace, if she lives to be any 
size.” 

“I am naming her according to the way I 
see her myself. In a sense she is perfect in my 
eyes. Love makes her so.” 

“Oh, ah!” 

The small woman before me merely looked at 
me, and, by and by, spoke of the weather. I 
doubted not her having undergone a long course 
of training in agreeing with people. At least, 
she must have learned that lesson of yielding 
in the end. Otherwise, how could she have lived 
in peace with the husband that she had? I had 
no way of knowing what the cost to herself had 
been. It may have been much, or it may have 
been little. I could not tell. Her personality 
seemed to be negative. I often thought it would 
be a treat to find out something that she liked 
very much, or something that she strongly dis¬ 
liked. I was in hopes that she would express 
herself further in regard to the name of the 
baby. She did not, however, then, and ever 
afterwards accepted “Grace” without question. 
By ever afterwards, I mean as long as there 
was opportunity for Mother Dale and me to 
talk together. 

For that very day my husband made it clear 
to me that a change was impending; not so 


THE CAMEO LADY 


45 


much by what he said, but by some things that 
he did not say. I was in my room when he 
entered. He tossed his hat on a chair, and gave 
no sign for a time of his knowledge of my pres¬ 
ence. I knew that something was wrong. I 
waited for a seasonable moment to speak. It 
did not seem to come, but finally I spoke any¬ 
how. 

44 Isn’t it a delightful day?” I remarked with 
warmth of tone. That old, friendly topic could 
not offend any one, I thought, and it might serve 
as a stepping-stone to something else. 

4 4 Is it? ’’ my husband asked indifferently. 4 4 1 
have had other things to think about. ? ’ 

44 What, if you please?” 

4 4 Something more than the weather and the 
kid. ’’ 

My husband never talked to me about busi¬ 
ness, except, perhaps, about a side issue now 
and then. He stayed in an office of his father, 
but what he did in there was more than I knew. 
I came to suspect that he did next to nothing, 
and that we were supported by Judge Dale. So 
I could understand why it was doubly disap¬ 
pointing to Rufus for his father to fail being 
elected to the state office for which he was then 
a candidate, if defeat seemed probable. 

4 4 1 am sorry if something has disturbed you,’ ’ 
I remarked. For I tried to be agreeable to 
Rufus, and to forget as far as possible about 
the wart on his nose, especially since Baby 
came. 

44 You may be sorry, sure enough,” my hus- 


46 


THE CAMEO LADY 


band averred. “How’s the kid? It’s a kid for 
you, now isn’t it ? Deformed! ’ ’ 

‘‘ Aren’t you ashamed to slur at the poor lit¬ 
tle thing? It’s my dear baby, anyway.” 

Rufus was not always ill-natured. Something 
had gone wrong, or he was afraid that an espe¬ 
cial something would go wrong. The most dis¬ 
turbing thing to him that I could think of was 
his father’s defeat in the election. There was 
no knowing how much money was spent in mak¬ 
ing the race. Nor was there any telling what 
change was just ahead of—even me. 


VI 


Judge Hale was not elected. Besides, the 
race for the office left him heavily in debt. The 
first thing I knew Rufus applied to Father for 
money. He was only an instrument in the hands 
of the judge, I was sure. The next thing I knew 
Father had lent the money. I wondered if it 
would ever be paid back, or if Father ’s hard- 
earned money would simply go to pay dishonest 
debts of Judge Dale. I had no doubt of their be¬ 
ing largely dishonest ones. For, in the case of 
the debtor’s being Rufus, Father would be 
lenient in regaining his means. The battle was 
one waged above my head. I was not consulted 
in the matter by any one. However, the more 
I thought of it, the more I believed I had a right 
to take a hand in it. 

By and by I bundled up Baby and went home 
on a visit. While I was there I followed Father 
out on the lawn one day to have a talk with him. 
I admitted my ignorance of business, but I knew 
something about a game, I told him. I per¬ 
ceived there was a game going on around me 
that ought to be stopped. Well, Father and I 
had a long talk, in which Father gave me to 
understand that I was still his dear little girl, 
and that he was concerned about my interests. 
Several days later I was wandering around and 
I saw Father coming out of the thirty-acre field, 
47 


48 


THE CAMEO LADY 


as he always called a certain tract. I went to 
meet him. He looked serious though he smiled 
when I said, “Hello, Daddy,’’ in much the old 
way. 

“You seem to have stumps in plenty in that 
field,” I remarked. “More than there used to 
he, it seems to me. Not trying to sprout stumps 
for market, are you?” 

Then I laughed a little. 

Father paid no attention to my foolishness, 
but as we walked towards the house he said: 

“Stella, I don’t want you ever to sell that 
field; when I am gone, I mean. 

I was startled. 

“When you are gone?” I repeated. “Why, 
Father! ” 

“Hang to it like grim death,” he pursued. 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so! Decidedly!” 

As we walked on—Father a little in front of 
me—I felt as if I might have received an elec¬ 
tric shock. It was an odd notion of his to em¬ 
phasize that old stump field out of all his good 
farm and say a thing like that to me. Father 
had his eccentricities, so people said. Probably 
he was manifesting some of them in that in¬ 
stance. Anyhow, I was stirred to the depths 
of my being. Father was thinner than I had 
ever seen him. Perhaps he thought he would 
not live long. 

During that visit I received a letter from 
Rufus, saying that Judge Dale was about to sell 
his home. Another letter came, telling that the 
house was sold and possession would be given 


THE CAMEO LADY 


49 


at once. Judge and Mrs. Dale expected to go 
to another town to live. He, Eufus, had rented 
a cottage, which he and I would occupy. 

Oh, my! I had never kept house. So much 
seemed to be happening that affected me. I 
cut my visit short and returned to B-ville. 
Rufus met me at the train and took me to our 
new home. 

The cottage was on the edge of the town. I 
looked upon it as a tombstone to all my worldly 
aspirations. For the elite would never call at a 
place like that. What did my husband mean? 
Had he lost his sense of the fitness of things to 
take me to live in a dwelling which was only a 
little better than a cabin? I was indignant 
when I was sat down before that poor, lonesome, 
paintless house. Hadn’t I always been used to 
the best? My husband knew it. 

Then came the bare, ugly rooms. I proposed 
papering and painting, but my husband shook 
his head. Said he knew the landlord would ob¬ 
ject. I had lost sight of the fact that I had a 
landlord; we didn’t even own the place. I ended 
by placing all my furniture in three rooms, and 
making those rooms as desirable as possible. I 
had enough pretty things to make the parlor 
attractive, after a style. Should any of my 
friends wish to continue their acquaintance with 
me, they would find, when they were once inside 
the house, that they would be almost able to 
forget that I had undergone a change of for¬ 
tune. I wish to say right here, to the credit 
of humanity, a few of my friends kept up their 
acquaintance with me. A very few showed even 


50 


THE CAMEO LADY 


wanner feelings toward me than they had 
shown in the past. 

As for myself, I felt it all keenly, of course. 
How could I do otherwise? But in my strug¬ 
gles something within me told me that I was 
greater than poverty. I began to dream of 
ways to conquer it. With my many little make¬ 
shifts I gained in self-confidence and in ability, 
so I thought. As dark as the situation looked 
at times, I could not give up to it for the sake 
of my child. I don’t know what I might have 
done without her. As it was, I worked on. I 
was still too young to lose all lightness of heart 
easily. So I often sang to the music of the 
washboard and to other accompanists fully as 
homely. There was one thing which I would 
not do, and that was to complain to Father 
and Mother. If I had come into possession of 
my lot in life, I meant to stand it somehow or 
other. After all, it was growing to be interest¬ 
ing to see what different worlds were like. 
There was even something in favor of looking 
up from the lower round, for a time at least. 
I saw a good many things that I did not dis¬ 
cover when I stood on the top round and looked 
down. I came to think that the trials of it 
depended much upon the way I regarded my 
point of view. I had within myself the power 
to create a point of view. For many unseemly 
places there were compensations. I learned to 
look for the compensations, and often found 
them. 

Still, there were some places which were hard 
for me to get by, try as I would. For instance, 


THE CAMEO LADY 


51 


the money that Rufus borrowed from Father 
went as I suspected it would go. There was no 
way of paying it back that I could see. Then, 
by and by (I can scarcely speak of this, yet), 
a horse ran away when Father and Mother were 
driving to town one day, and they both were— 
killed. Shock! Oh! But then they didn’t suf¬ 
fer, it seemed. The deed was done instantly. 
Besides, they went to a brighter, happier world 
where they would not worry about me. Wasn’t 
it lovely that they wouldn’t f For them to worry 
about me was always more than I could stand. 
Oh, gracious! how I apologize for dragging in 
my troubles. It shows that a person never 
knows at the outset over what stones his road 
may lead. Yet, take my word for it, if he will 
look for his guiding star, he will find it. With¬ 
out that light I should have been utterly be¬ 
wildered. Sometimes it shone in one part of 
my firmament and sometimes in another. 

To continue with the bad things that I hate 
to tell, my husband set about winding up 
Father’s affairs. He took Judge Dale into coun¬ 
sel—never me, except in regard to matters of 
minor importance. Without previous notice I 
was told to sign a paper, deeding the farm to a 
recent purchaser. I staggered. Father’s farm! 
I wouldn’t. My husband raved. He would force 
me to do so. He couldn't. I wouldn’t sign the 
deed. At last when he saw there was no use 
either to storm at me, or to argue with me, he 
quietly told me that he was obliged to have some 
money, or both he and Judge Dale would have 
to go to prison. 


52 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“To prison?” 

There was my child. Both father and grand¬ 
father in prison. That would never do. The 
disgrace! Where was the deed? Then I re¬ 
membered my promise to Father to hold the 
thirty-acre field, come what might. I would 
drop dead in my tracks before I would break 
that promise. It was as sacred to me as any¬ 
thing could be. I agreed then to sell all except 
that field. 

“Utter nonsense!” my husband declared. 
“Who ever heard of breaking up a tract of land 
like that for the sake of one field. Perhaps the 
buyer would not want it without the field.’ ’ 

“All right, then,” I answered. “It will go 
that way, or not go at all. You won’t let the 
father and the grandfather of little Grade bear 
the disgrace of imprisonment, will you? You 
can probably find some one who will buy the 
farm without the thirty-acre field.” 

“For the sake of the kid?” 

“Why not for the sake of Grade?” 

My husband left me with a sneer on his face. 
I had tried hard to keep him from reading 
some things that were on my heart, but now and 
then I believed he got an inkling of the truth. 
If he had acted in a way to make me forget the 
wart on his nose, or what it stood for to me, 
I’d have been glad to forget it. Glad! If he 
had been aided by circumstances to make me 
forget, perhaps he would have come nearer 
succeeding. Circumstances, however, did her 
poorest, it seemed to me. Oh, well, such mat¬ 
ters were not under particular consideration at 


THE CAMEO LADY 


53 


that time. Doubtless Eufus forgot the intima¬ 
tion just made as soon as he was gone. Any¬ 
how, he brought me a deed to sign with the 
thirty-acre field left out. 


VII 


So Grade's father and grandfather were 
saved from prison. Honestly, it was too big a 
price to pay for them, but it was not really for 
them; it was for Gracie. Prison was what the 
two men deserved, I did not doubt. The older 
man for his out-and-out wickedness, and the 
younger through weak obedience to his leader. 
Rufus alone would not have been guilty of 
anything that required so much energy and 
ability. It was perhaps too much to ask of a 
man to remain as he was in disposition before 
he married, when the odds were against him, 
but it was a simple fact that Rufus as my hus¬ 
band was very different from Rufus as my 
lover. The first Rufus was at least agreeable. 
The second Rufus was ill-natured; and, in addi¬ 
tion, showed general inability for coping with 
the world. 

Now that the money that should have made 
me and my child comfortable had gone to pre¬ 
vent a stain on the family name, had I not a 
right to expect some return for the sacrifice? 
I got it. Listen. At an early opportunity I put 
a few straightforward questions to Rufus con¬ 
cerning our affairs. As for the farm, I was 
assured that matter was all settled. Further¬ 
more, Judge Dale would retire to private life. 
He had sufficient means laid by, it seemed, to 


THE CAMEO LADY 


55 


keep him comfortable in his old age. Nothing 
from that quarter about helping me. Rufus 
seized the chance to say: 

‘ 4 Rent on the house is overdue, and there is 
nothing to pay it with. My job will end this 
week, and I have already overdrawn my sal¬ 
ary. 1 9 

That’s what there was for me from that 
source. I alone knew how I had scrimped to 
get along. The end of a road was reached; 
that was all. There was nothing left then even 
to economize on. That night as I lay awake, 
trying to think what to do, I heard Rufus get 
up. A little later I saw him, by the moonlight 
that streamed through the window, open a suit¬ 
case and fill it, I didn’t know whether he knew 
what he was putting into it or not. My heart 
stood still, it seemed, from surprise and I did 
not know what all. Plainly Rufus was going to 
leave. I did not speak. I did not know what to 
say. I looked and listened. Then I made a 
noise to let Rufus know that I was awake. He 
closed the suitcase quietly. Then he hesitated. 
Finally, he bent over the bed of Grade, and 
stooped and kissed her forehead. Afterwards 
he turned towards me. 

“Goodbye,” I said coolly. “When do you 
think you will be back ? 99 

‘ ‘ Heaven only knows , 9 9 he answered in a tone 
that made my heart ache for him. 

“Where are you going, Rufus?” 

4 ‘ I can answer that better when I get back . 9 9 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I will tell you that, when I get back.” 

‘ 4 What am I going to do while you are gone ? 9 9 


56 


THE CAMEO LADY 


‘‘ Exactly as you please. ’’ 

“Thank you.” 

‘ ‘ Goodbye, Stella.’ 9 
“Goodbye, Rufus.” 

That was the way my husband and I parted. 
Afterwards, as I lay there that night thinking 
I told myself that Rufus wasn’t all bad. He 
had simply got caught in a wheel of circum¬ 
stances that proved too much for his ability. 
Yet he had left plenty for me to do. There was 
no denying that. So I closed my eyes and tried 
to sleep as a means of preparation. Sleep at 
length kindly claimed me. Believe me, my emo¬ 
tions were alive, but I had sense enough to 
know that I was facing a situation which re¬ 
quired all the brains I had. I had been tired 
that night when I went to bed from the day’s 
housework, and I knew I needed the rest that 
sleep alone could bring. Perhaps I had gained 
a little in self-control of late years. It would 
have been strange if I hadn’t undergone some 
changes, either for better or worse. 

When morning came, then, I tried to decide 
what to do. Finally, I went to see my land¬ 
lord and had a talk with him. I offered him 
all that was in the house, except wearing ap¬ 
parel, to offset the rent. The offer included 
my wedding presents. The value of them alone 
far exceeded the rent. What could I do with 
them? I had no place to keep them, and I 
wouldn’t peddle them out. 

The landlord was kind. He looked, and 
spoke, truly sympathetic. Say what one will 
about the coldness and hardness of the world, 


THE CAMEO LADY 


57 


when distress makes a recognizable appeal, 
there is oftener than otherwise a hearty re¬ 
sponse. The help that came from that man’s 
sympathy was worth much to me in courage. 
Besides, he generously offered to buy what I 
had at a fair price. So, even after the rent 
was paid, I should have what seemed to me a 
considerable amount of money. 

I grew anxious to leave B—ville before the 
town should learn about me. So I decided to 
go at once to a distant city where I would 
never see any one whom I had seen before, and 
there live out my days. Traveling so far seemed, 
though, a reckless expenditure of my means. 
However, I got together Gracie’s clothing and 
my own, and soon set out. 

Grace was then six years old. She was small¬ 
er than the average child of that age. Her 
little face was pale and pinched-looking. Her 
feet were still useless to her for walking. She 
had learned to roll herself a short distance in 
her wheeled chair. She was good at nursing 
herself—resourceful. I had been thankful many 
a time that that fact was true. Otherwise I did 
not see how I could have got along. The child 
was affectionate and cheery. She did not miss 
the use of her feet, as she had never had it; 
but I missed it for her. She was excited over 
our trip. She could remember having ridden on 
the train but a few times. 

One morning soon I helped my little girl to 
her wheeled chair and placed two or three pack¬ 
ages in there beside her. And we were ready 
to go. The trunk I had already sent to the 
depot. The trunk and the packages and the 


58 


THE CAMEO LADY 


clothes that Gracie and I wore, with what money 
I had in my purse, constituted the sum of all 
that I possessed. I had scarcely thought what 
I would do when I reached the city. I had only 
made up my mind to go, and had been busy in 
getting off. On the train I fell to wondering 
what I should do when I got there. 

I knew next to nothing of life in a large city. 
However I had visited cities before on pleasure 
trips and shopping expeditions, and had seen 
them from the street cars and from the aisles 
of the large shops, from hotels and from some 
other public places frequented by visitors. 
Still, that way of seeing a city differed widely 
from seeing it as an actual member of its seeth¬ 
ing mass; I held a theory to that effect. There 
was the actual living in a city yet before me. 
I knew I was ignorant and the best I could 
think of was to trust to my guiding star, which 
had always manifested itself in the past, at last, 
opening up to me. Doubtless it would not fail 
me that time. 

At the end of the journey I lingered in the 
railway station to give Grace a bite to eat, and 
take a little food myself. There was still some 
in the box with which I had started. While I sat 
there, looking around, a pleasant-faced woman 
in a white cap spoke to me, making inquiries 
about the comfort of Grace. In the course of 
the conversation she asked me what I intended 
to do. Then enough of my story leaked out for 
the woman, whose business it was to help the 
ignorant, to offer me advice. The result of it 
was that I readily found a room, an inexpensive 
one, near a Settlement Home, where afterwards 


THE CAMEO LADY 


59 


I left my child while I went to my day’s work. 
At first, while I went in search of work. 

The Home Mother showed an interest in 
Grace. Grace was delighted with the large 
number of children that played around her; 
some of whom played with her. She had known 
very few children in her life, being at the dis¬ 
advantage she was in keeping up with them. 
Her mother had been her chief playmate, but 
her mother had had much to do besides play. 
So the aspect of the change was a desirable one 
for Grace. I was thankful. For I could get 
along some way, any way, if only I could be 
at ease about my child. 

I did not look for work immediately. I did 
not know what to look for. I had never tried 
to do anything outside the house; but from 
the want columns in the newspapers work ought 
not to be hard to find. One evening I sat study¬ 
ing the advertisements for Help. Grace lay 
on the bed, though she was not asleep. I had 
given her her supper, but I had not eaten. I 
had put aside the newspaper to draw me a cup 
of tea. My little alcohol stove stood on the 
table near. A gas jet burned above the table. 
I struck a match to light the stove without ris¬ 
ing from the small rocking-chair in which I sat. 
As I was in the act of dropping the burnt match 
into a tray, I heard a voice outside my door 
that sounded familiar. I stopped quickly. The 
match did not reach the tray. Would the sound 
be repeated? I knew that voice. I had treas¬ 
ured it in my memory. Still there might be 
another like it somewhere in the world. It 


60 


THE CAMEO LADY 


might be in that city. Some one else spoke— 
talked at length. I rose from my chair and 
stole across the room to listen at the door. 
Grace laughed at my tiptoeing. I reached the 
door in time to hear the first voice again, but 
I did not understand the words that were 
spoken. Directly the two people went down the 
stairs. I heard the front door close. I turned. 
My heart beat fast. The flame of the stove 
was running high. Could it be possible? 
“What fools we mortals be,” I repeated, as I 
dropped the burnt match into the tray. 


VIII 


I was anxious to learn something of the owner 
of that voice. I was anxious to know if it be¬ 
longed to him, or if it represented some other 
person. I didn’t know what I should do if it 
did belong to him, for I certainly did not want 
to see him. I had come to that far-away city 
to drop from the view of my old acquaintances. 
So, logically, none of them had any right to 
intrude their presence on me. I would live for 
Gracie; that’s all there was for me. Yet I must 
find out about that voice. I wondered if he 
stayed in that house. I was already calling the 
voice he. How manage ? I must see, but I must 
not be seen. I thought often of the voice the 
next day when I was applying for the places 
advertised. It appeared as if there were a 
good many people besides myself wanting work. 
Someway they seemed to beat me to the jobs. 
The next morning I listened to hear the voice 
again, but I did not hear it. I was disappoint¬ 
ed. Still I merely wanted to know if that voice 
was really his. 

A few evenings afterwards I was later in 
coming in than I had been before. I was tired, 
too. I had lifted Gracie from her chair to carry 
her upstairs, when the landlady called: 

“Here, Mrs. Dale, a minute, please.” 

So I reseated Gracie in her chair and told 
61 


62 


THE CAMEO LADY 


her to be good; Mother would be back in a 
minute. I stepped into the room from which 
the landlady called, and there stood—the voice. 
I was sure it was, though he had grown stouter 
since that afternoon on the lawn, and he wore 
a little more beard and looked somewhat differ¬ 
ent. I must have acted the idiot, for the lady 
looked at me wild-eyed a minute before she 
said: 

“Doctor Folk thinks we have a case of 
measles in the house. I thought you would like 
to know for the sake of your little girl. ’ ’ 

“Very kind of you to tell me,” I said, de¬ 
termining to take small notice of the doctor. 
“Fortunately my child has had measles. Still 
I shall take precaution.” 

I had about finished with what there was to 
say, so I thought, when the doctor stepped for¬ 
ward, saying: 

“I have the pleasure of meeting an old ac¬ 
quaintance, have I not? Formerly Miss Battle 
—Miss Stella Battle.” 

He held my hand a trifle longer than was 
necessary. 

“How glad I am to see you,” he pursued. 
“Staying here? You must tell me something 
about yourself and about your father and 
mother and Philip and the Humphrys. I never 
hear from them these days.” 

I trembled. My lip quivered. My eyes filled. 
I did not dare trust myself to speak. I only 
clung to his hand. 

“Mother,” wailed the child in the wheeled 
chair, “come on; Pm hungry.” 

“I must see you some other time,” the doc- 


THE CAMEO LADY 


63 


tor declared, ‘ 4 and have a long talk with yon. ’ ’ 

He took my arm and went with me to the 
wheeled chair. There he spoke to Grace, and 
inquired of me the nature of her trouble. He 
took my hand again and was gone. 

“Let me carry the little girl upstairs for you 
this time, ’’ urged my landlady. 

I was afraid she had observed my agitation. 
Doubtless she had done so. After depositing 
Grace in the room, the woman turned to me, 
remarking: 

‘ ‘ That’s one splendid doctor. Every one who 
knows him thinks so. Everybody loves him. 
The young man with the measles must. He is 
an old acquaintance, it seems. That’s how he 
come to get the doctor, for Doctor Folk is a 
surgeon, and keeps busy at the hospitals the 
most of the time. Anything I can do for you 
tonight, Mrs. Dale?” 

“Nothing,*’1 thanked her. 

The woman left the room. She was large 
physically, kind-natured, and a gossip. 

I supplied the wants of Gracie. Afterwards 
I indulged in the mood that came over me. I 
had no right to do so, I suppose. I should have 
been strong and put aside all thought of the 
only man I ever saw, who I believed could have 
given me my life as I should have liked to live 
it. I said should have liked , for that chance 
was past—the chance for that life—except there 
had been no chance! Now here he came along 
to remind me of what might have been, should 
have been, and couldn’t have been. I was stirred 
to the depths of my soul. If my soul had been 


64 


THE CAMEO LADY 


a million fathoms deep, my emotions would have 
reached the bottom. I was sure I had lost life, 
as it were, by failing to get him. Dead sure of 
it! The night was going apace. I could hear 
the clocks around striking the hours. Sleep 
would not come. I did not care if it didn’t. I 
was alive to the sublimity of the occasion. I 
was always sensitive to the grandeur in Nature 
—to sunsets, to the starry sky. Weren’t there 
experiences of the soul that were sublime? I 
did not weep. I merely lived to the limits of 
my being. Probably the disappointments and 
trials that I had had strengthened my apprecia¬ 
tion of the impossible happiness for me. 

It may seem that I ought not mention my in¬ 
terest in that man, under the circumstances. 
Yet, like many underground streams, this cur¬ 
rent of my life came to the surface without aid 
except that supplied by conditions. I was un¬ 
able to avoid its appearance. So, when it came 
of its own accord, I did not know how to deny 
it and be honest with myself. In facing the 
truth squarely, I gained the advantage of know¬ 
ing the ground on which I stood, and therefore 
of regulating my course of action. For his 
sake, I would then see as little of him as pos¬ 
sible. Doubtless his interest in me was the 
very slightest, but I had always heard of the 
power of—interest—to awaken interest, and I 
would none of that. 

The very next evening, after Doctor Folk 
had finished with his patient, the kind gentle¬ 
man (why didn’t he forget about me, or be too 
busy to stop, or something else?) told the land- 


THE CAMEO LADY 


65 


lady to ask me if I could receive him. I had 
no plausible excuse, especially as the landlady 
offered to look after Grace while I went to the 
parlor. 

The parlor was a tiny room, but it looked well 
enough. Indeed, it did credit to the unpreten¬ 
tious rooming-house. I opened the door and 
entered. The doctor was standing near a win¬ 
dow, looking at a picture on the wall. The gas 
was lighted, for it was already early evening. 
The doctor turned and took both my hands in 
his and led me to a sofa, 

“Now I want you to tell me all about your¬ 
self,’ ’ he said, “and about everybody.” 

He was of a sympathetic nature, and I knew 
it, although it was the first time he had ever 
shown me any sympathy. 

I wondered where to begin, and what to put 
in and what to leave out. Finally, I started off 
with the end of my story, thinking I would tell 
it backwards, what I told of it. 

“I came here for business,” I said. 

“Business?” he repeated. Then he stared at 
me, as though he would read in my face all 
that I did not intend to put into words. 

“Your husband?” he said with an interroga¬ 
tion point after it. 

“I do not know where Rufus is,” I answered. 
“Gone to seek his fortune, perhaps; but I do 
not know. I have heard nothing from him since 

lip lpft 99 

“Is it possible?” 

Then I answered questions concerning my 
family. I said about as little as possible on the 


66 


THE CAMEO LADY 


subjects that affected me most, for I did not 
wish to awaken an undue amount of sympathy 
in my companion. Matters could not be mend¬ 
ed. So I branched away from those distressing 
topics with the remark: 

4 4 You have come to be a distinguished sur¬ 
geon, I am told.” 

Doctor Folk blushed, from modesty I thought. 

4 ‘I drive hard at it,” he admitted. 44 You 
have not told me all about yourself, * ’ he added. 
44 1 have enough, however, to shock me and 
amaze me. Think of the reverses that can 
come! I am glad I have found you. You must 
not suffer for want of anything that I can do 
for you. You have had enough already.” 

44 Oh! thank you,” I answered with a mock 
laugh. 4 4 Any one who has gone through what 
I have gone through can stand the rest. ’ ’ 

4 4 Now I am going to tell you something to 
prove to you that I have a right to help you. 
Prepare to be shocked. I don’t care if you 
are by this. Even get the poker—if you can 
find one—to reward me. I might have saved 
you; provided you would have let me. That is, 
I might have saved you from much that has 
fallen to you. I have heard about the man 
you married. It's a shame! If I had it to do 
over—if I had that afternoon on the lawn again 
—I would set up against any rival. I have 
always regretted that I didn’t tell you on the 
spot that I had fallen in love with you that 
afternoon. However, the thing took me by sur¬ 
prise. I was on the eve of returning to the 
city, too, and there was hard work ahead of me, 


THE CAMEO LADY 


67 


and I had much to think of. Nevertheless I 
have always regretted that I let you pass me. 
I have never seen any other woman toward 
whom I have had that feeling. Of course I have 
missed you out of my own life—for what might 
have been. ’’ 

I lay back on the sofa and covered my face 
with my hands. 

44 How can you?” I said with deep feeling. 
4 ‘ How dare you now ?’ 9 

“Because I have fancied that I might have 
made you like me, and because I want to do all 
I can to rectify the mistake I made then. I am 
going to do it, in fact. Your parents are gone. 
Here you are in a strange city, without friends, 
alone, and with a purse much lighter than it 
once was. It’s my right; nay, my duty. Put 
it that way, if you wish.’ 9 

“ No, it isn 9 t your duty. My husband is alive; 
at least, I believe he is.” 

“He isn’t worth anything to you if he is. 
His carcass would be valuable for a post mor¬ 
tem.” 

“Doctor Folk!” 

“What is it you are trying to do?” he in¬ 
quired. 

“Business.” 

“What kind of business?” 

I tried to suppress the tears that mounted 
to my eyes, and succeeded very well. 

“Just business,” I repeated. 

“All right, if you don’t want to tell me; but 
I ’ll not fail this time to keep up with you. When 
may I see you again?” 


68 


THE CAMEO LADY 


He rose to go. 

“When I become a widow,” 
“Ah!” 


I answered. 


IX 


The next day I determined to double my en¬ 
ergies and find a job. I read of an art shop 
wanting some one to tint pictures for it. “ Why 
not try that? I thought. I wanted something 
genteel, if I could find it. I had painted a good 
many pictures when I was a girl, some of which 
my friends had praised warmly. It would be a 
good idea to turn my talents to dollars and 
cents now. I copied the address from the news¬ 
paper and called on the firm. The manager re¬ 
ceived me courteously, but questioned me close¬ 
ly concerning the work I had done, especially 
the work I had done for commercial purposes. 
I had never sold a dollar’s worth in my life. 
So that part was readily told about. At length, 
however, the courteous manager appointed a 
day and an hour when I might return and paint 
a trial picture. As I should have to furnish 
the material for that purpose, I went to the shop 
where such could be bought, and selected what 
I thought I should need. I wanted the advan¬ 
tages in my favor, and therefore made a liberal 
allowance for my needs. Wihat was left over 
could be used on future work. The bill amount¬ 
ed to three dollars and sixty-five cents. I wished 
it not so much. Still, if I were going to paint 
pictures for my living the material would not 
be wasted. When the appointed time came, I 
69 


70 


THE CAMEO LADY 


returned to the art shop and set to work. I 
was nervous over the job. I realized I was not 
doing my best, by a long way. I lamented that 
fact to the manager when he came to see how I 
was getting on. The man was kind and encour¬ 
aged me, or I believe I should never have fin¬ 
ished. 

“Don’t attempt the sky,” he requested in a 
pleasant tone of voice. “We put that in with 
an air-brush. Ever see one?” 

I had never seen one. 

“I wanted to get a line on your work,” he 
continued. 

Then I mentioned the number of pictures that 
I thought I might be able to do, letting the man¬ 
ager know the exact size of the salary to which 
I aspired. When I was leaving, I thanked the 
gentleman for the opportunity he offered me. 
He cleared his throat a little; at the sound of 
which I took alarm. He remarked: 

“We have all the help at present that we 
need, but probably later trade will pick up and 
we will need another artist. I can write you 
if we should.” 

“To be sure.” 

I left my address, and returned to my lodg¬ 
ings, feeling that I had as good as secured a 
job. Several days passed, but I heard nothing 
from the manager of the art shop. So I began 
to feel that something might go wrong about 
the picture job, and I would be on the lookout 
for something else. 

I applied to the Employment Bureaus, telling 
the secretaries about my expecting to paint pic- 


THE CAMEO LADY 


71 


tures, but while I waited I wanted to see what 
they had to offer. 

“What do you do?” they asked. 

“I scarcely know what to tell you,” I an¬ 
swered; “but I haven’t been idle to speak of. 
I have done ’most everything from painting 
pictures to hoeing the garden.” 

The women said that clerical workers were 
their specialties. Could I typewrite, or do 
stenography, or bookkeeping? No, I had never 
done any of those things, and I was rather 
afraid to undertake them offhand. I said so. 

They would smile. They were very pleasant 
and kind. 

“It’s people who have had experience along 
those lines who are in demand,” one woman 
told me. 

“Maybe I could be just a clerk,” I remarked, 
after thinking a little. ‘ ‘ I write a plain hand. ’ ’ 

64 What experience have you had in an office ? ’ ’ 
the lady asked. 

“Oh! none, as far as that is concerned,” I 
said, “but everybody has to get a start some 
time, you know. I am no more stupid than the 
average. ’ ’ 

“I would be glad to help you,” the lady de¬ 
clared; “but my calls are for experienced per¬ 
sons, unless it is in the case of young girls. 
People are willing to train young girls, but 
mature persons must have experience—nearly 
always. ’ ’ 

‘‘ Experienced! ’ ’ 

How I learned to wish that word were not in 
the language! At every place I applied it was 


72 


THE CAMEO LADY 


invariably the same question, “ Experienced V’ 
I wondered how a person ever got started in 
business, for nobody I ever heard of was born 
with experience. 

After learning that I must have something 
special to apply for, I commenced asking for a 
place that required good, hard sense and plain 
handwriting. I could give proof of the hand¬ 
writing at least. 

Every one was courteous, but nobody offered 
me a job. I walked the streets, from one place 
to another, until the bands of my skirts grew 
alarmingly large. The bills in my purse were 
decreasing constantly, in spite of the economy 
I practised. Odors from the restaurants I 
passed often tempted me to go in and get a 
good, square meal, but I did not yield. I only 
promised to reward myself when I secured a 
job. Nor was that the only way in which I 
was tempted to spend the money which was 
getting away from me all too fast as it was. 
The dispays of clothing in the windows made 
me growl. I wanted some of those frocks for 
Grace, and other articles for myself. “ Never 
mind! Just wait until I get my job,” I said. 

At length I decided to write to the man for 
whose inspection I had painted the picture. It 
was several weeks since my experience with 
him. So I wrote, reminding him of his order 
for the pictures. He answered politely, saying 
that he regretted that he could not give the 
order then, and he was also sorry that he did 
not know when he could give it. He advised me 
to accept another position and not wait on him. 


THE CAMEO LADY 


73 


Accept a position? The irony of circum¬ 
stances! I was almost in despair. I thought 
of Doctor Folk and wondered about going to 
him and telling him of my failure. No; I didn’t 
want to place myself under obligation. I would 
fight my own battles. Fight them; but how? 
I had the courage, but I did not have the 
knowledge. There I was! One evening I was 
returning from my weary search, when a well- 
known figure turned from a news-stand and 
joined me. 

“How are things going with you?” the per¬ 
son inquired. 

“I decline to answer,” I said, indignation 
showing a trifle. 

“Decline to answer a perfectly civil question? 
Now, that is a handsome way to act. I am hav¬ 
ing a stormy time myself. Obliged to put an 
advertisement in today’s paper. Here r tis; 
take it along and read it.” 

I laid hold of the paper that was thrust at me. 

“Can’t depend on these girls in the office. 
How they fool away their time. They are inter¬ 
ested in everything except business. They must 
run out and get lunches. They must telephone 
to their beaux. The last thought they have is 
the work they are paid to do. ’ ’ 

My companion talked while trying to light a 
cigar. I caught my breath. Did he really need 
office help? He was tired of trying girls. Under 
those circumstances, I might apply for the place 
and yet not offend my pride. I waited to hear 
more, but the next time he spoke, he said: 

‘ ‘ Here is my street. A call. Glad I met you. 


74 


THE CAMEO LADY 


Always a pleasure. Don’t forget that I am 
your friend. You have showed precious little 
acquaintance with the fact. Farewell. See you 
again.” 

“Oh, my! Why did I ever meet that man? 
Goodness! I hoped I would not see him again. 
I would love him—a little—and I couldn’t help 
myself. 

Just as soon as I had a chance that evening, I 
opened the newspaper and found the advertise¬ 
ment. It ran: 

“Wanted: Woman to take charge of office. 
Experience not essential. Permanent. Good 
pay. Girls need not apply. ’ ’ 

Initials and address were added. Perhaps I 
might be able to fill that position. Yet if I 
couldn’t do the work, I was afraid that the doc¬ 
tor would hesitate to tell me, or would not tell 
me at all. How hard I would try! Should I 
go to him in the morning? Again, I wondered 
if it were possible that he put that advertise¬ 
ment in the paper for my benefit. There was 
no way of finding out. Grace interrupted my 
meditations with the remark: 

“Mother, I want to walk. I wants to run 
and play.” 

1 ‘ Oh, my precious darling, what put that into 
your head?” 

“Just ’cause I does. I wants to play.” 

I looked at the child and saw her wipe at her 
eyes with her hand. Poor, precious dear! 

“All the other chillun do,” she said. 

“I wish with all my heart, darling, that you 
could walk.” I folded my newspaper with a 


THE CAMEO LADY 


75 


sigh. 44 Don’t you have a good time at the 
Home while Mother is away?” I asked. 

44 Oh, Mother! I’m learning to read, and I can 
write my name.” 

The little thing smiled and clapped her hands. 

44 I know you can. The teacher has told me 
about how quickly you learn. Makes Mother 
happy for you to learn to read and write.” 

4 4 1 ’ll read my book for you. ’ ’ 

4 4 Not now. Go to sleep tonight. Some other 
time.” 

4 4 Shall I apply at the office of Doctor Folk 
tomorrow ? ’ ’ 

The question I put to myself in an undertone, 
almost perplexed to death. 


X 


The next morning I decided to spend one 
more day in search of a job. Then if I failed 
to get one I would call on Doctor Folk. I was 
obliged to have work. My money was almost 
gone. The position he advertised might be 
filled, but I would take the chance. So I set 
out early to a factory that was wanting “Fe¬ 
male Help.’ ’ I did not wish to work in a fac¬ 
tory, but I would do so in consideration of a 
living. 

The entrance to that factory was anything 
but inviting. The street in front was dirty. 
There were half-a-dozen dirty loafers on the 
pavement near the door. Several people waited 
in the lobby to interview the superintendent. 
They were not of my class. Now I was not 
high-minded in the sense of thinking myself 
better than my fellow beings, but those people 
were “factory people/’ and I wasn’t. To be 
logical, then, I was the one who was out of 
place. I wanted a position, and I had gone 
there to try to get one, and so I meant to see 
the business through. When the superinten¬ 
dent appeared in the lobby, I was among the 
first to state my case. The man looked at me a 
minute without speaking, as if he were making 
an analysis of some foreign body that had got 
in his line of goods. He was not a scholary 


THE CAMEO LADY 


77 


man. He had probably studied the books in bis 
grammar school; that was all. Still I shall 
always respect his insight into character, even 
if I may not honor his veracity. 

“No position open this morning,” he said to 
me, in a manner that admitted of no further 
discussion of that subject, or of any other. 

After the edge wore off my disappointment, I 
could not help being happy that I was not want¬ 
ed there. As I waited for a car down the street, 
a woman came running to me, saying: 

“You remember that pretty girl in the lobby, 
don’t you! Well, after you left, the superin¬ 
tendent turned to her when she was leaving and 
told her not to go, that he had a job for her. 
Now, did you ever! Wanted that pretty girl 
around. It’s a shame when you are so young- 
looking and pretty, too. That’s always the way; 
the girls get the preference.” 

“Did you secure your job!” I inquired with 
interest. For I recognized the woman as one 
who waited with me in the lobby. 

“Get it! Yes; I got it by lying. Plenty do 
that way. When that man asked me if I had 
ever run a power-machine, I told him, ‘Yes.’ 
Well, I haven’t; but I mean to look around and 
get somebody to give me a few dots, and I’ll 
get along. If I like it, I’ll stay. If I don’t, I 
won’t. I never would have got it if I hadn’t 
lied about that thing, experience, they are all 
so crazy about.” 

“My lies are never born with any back¬ 
bone,” I lamented. “They won’t stand tests. 


78 


THE CAMEO LADY 


Besides, what’s a liar going to do when she’s 
through with this world ? ’ ’ 

“Can’t tell, I’m sure. One world at a time 
is bad enough for me. Isn’t that your car? 
Goodbye. A shame that pretty girl took the 
job away from you when you are so young- 
looking yourself, and as pretty as a posy. ’ ’ 

I actually thought of the river. In case Gracie 
should be left alone, the “Home” doubtless 
would adopt her. Well, it was still early in the 
morning, and I had other places yet on my list. 
I went next to a candy factory. The building 
was on the outskirts of the city, a large, hand¬ 
some edifice of grey stone. The inside was com¬ 
modious and up-to-date. “It’s lovely in here,” 
I thought. I applied for a position, and the em¬ 
ployer inquired: 

“What can you do?” 

“Anything,” I answered, “from wrapping 
the candy to stirring the kettle.” I had small 
idea what kind of vessel was used in making 
candy in a place like that. It might have been 
that the suggestion of the woman at the other 
factory was aftecting me. The employer said: 

‘ ‘ I think they have all the help out there that 
is needed; but we do want another person in 
the office. Think you could help in an office?” 

‘ 1 Oh, my, yes! I write the plainest hand you 
ever saw and I’ve got the most common sense.” 

I was nearly desperate. I wanted a job so 
terribly. 

The employer smiled, saying: “A rare gift. 
This place isn’t hard to fill; it does not call 


THE CAMEO LADY 


79 


for stenography or tj^pewriting either, but then 
the pay isn’t large.” 

W'e had a talk about the pay, and I agreed to 
take the place, with apparent reluctance, but 
really I was as keen as a razor to get it. Showed 
the progress I had made according to the 
woman at the other factory, didn’t it! So I laid 
aside my wraps and was introduced to the other 
office people with whom I would be associated, 
and then introduced to my own job. Thank 
goodness! I was glad to meet it, for I was worn 
threadbare in search of it. 

I was merely an assistant of other assistants, 
and I felt a little chagrined; but I said nothing, 
of course. I worked on and tried to learn my 
routine. The foreman of the office was a little 
Italian, a certain Giuseppe Dolci. He com¬ 
plained of overwork and set me at some of his 
tasks. However, he found time to go from his 
desk at one side of the room to that of Mell 
Startlett at the other side about every half- 
hour, it seemed. He had a narrow face, a bald 
head and a dull eye. He showed an apprecia¬ 
tion of his own wit that was wonderful to see, 
and expected every other person in the room to 
be able to enjoy it. Very soon I realized that 
I could not give the response expected. On such 
occasions I merely clung to my work, appar¬ 
ently obvious to all else, and let the wit get 
taken care of the best it might. Mell Startlett 
never failed to applaud at the right places. 

Mell was a large woman, with heavy features 
and a bold tongue. It was hard to tell about 
the amount of delicacy with which she set out 


80 


THE CAMEO LADY 


with in life—whether she had a little to start 
with and lost it on her way to success in her 
work, or whether Nature denied her that attri¬ 
bute altogether in the beginning. It was suffi¬ 
cient for me to learn that she had none then. 
She shrieked her most private affairs from the 
housetop. Yet oftener than otherwise she drew 
attention to the moral she found. She spoke 
much of her lamentable need of good clothing, 
but it was easy to see that she had never learned 
the gentle art of economy in dress. In calling 
attention to her tatters, she would announce 
that her week’s salary went as soon as it was 
received, and she had nothing to show for it 
except a bare living. That fact was easily ac¬ 
cepted, and yet one wanted to tell her that a 
person with her income would do well to stick 
to the necessities and leave the luxuries, for the 
most part, alone. Giuseppe Dolci sympathized 
with Mell in her distresses. He failed to see 
wherein Mell should have managed better, 
either from his own wish to indulge her, or 
from the natural blindness of a man in such 
matters. It was difficult for me to tell which 
was the case, or whether his conduct was in¬ 
fluenced by a mixture of the two elements. Any¬ 
how, one day I saw him take a roll of bills 
from a drawer in his desk and hand it to Mell, 
and I heard her say in a pleased tone, ‘‘ Oh, you 
have something for me, have you? You are a 
dear!” Unfortunately, it seemed, I looked in 
that direction at the wrong moment, and must 
have showed my surprise in my face, for as 
Giuseppe Dolci caught my eye his face red- 


THE CAMEO LADY 


81 


dened. I tucked my head back in my papers, 
but I knew instinctively something was going 
to happen, and that something to me. 

At the lunch hour I would wander away by 
myself, and sit down in a spot where I could 
eat my lunch in quiet enjoyment. Once the 
forewoman from the candy-kitchen joined me. 
She was small and plump, and had the most 
enviable muscles I ever saw in a woman. These 
she had gained through her long service in the 
factory. She had a pleasant face and a kindly 
manner, but factory was written in every line¬ 
ament; so strong were the marks of environ¬ 
ment. The woman introduced me to the mys¬ 
teries of the factory, and I began to feel grate¬ 
ful that I had found a friend. Still, as I went 
about the building, I sometimes wondered if I 
should have to be a factory woman the rest of 
my days. I sincerely hoped not. Perhaps my 
wheel of fortune would turn another peg and I 
would find myself more congenially situated. 
In the meantime, however, I was glad of my job. 

One day after Mell had seen me talking with 
the forewoman, she stopped by my desk in the 
office, and said loud enough for the whole force 
to hear: 

“I don’t have anything to do with Miss- 

myself; nothing at all. If you only knew some 
of the tales that are told about her. Dreadful! 
I wouldn’t be seen with her for anything in the 
world. I wouldn’t, myself !’ 1 

Mell lost no occasion, in rudeness to the fore¬ 
woman, to prove by her manner that she would 
have nothing to do with her. 


82 


THE CAMEO LADY 


‘‘What sort of place have I got into?” I 
asked myself. “Yet I must work.” So I stuck 
closer than ever to my job, if that could be, and 
closer to myself. In spite of these facts, I re¬ 
ceived occasional reminders of the displeasure 
of Giuseppe Dolci. One afternoon, to bring an 
unpleasant tale to its finish, I was notified that 
my services were no longer required. 

On my way home I cried; less perhaps from 
my need of the work than from my having been 
discharged. However, before I had gone far, I 
reflected that a good thing was as apt to rise 
from a disappointment as a bad one. Now that 
I had been able to get one job, perhaps I could 
get another, and a better one next time. While 
I was still in the suburbs of the city my atten¬ 
tion was arrested by something familiar in the 
walk of a man whom I saw coming across a 
field. I had seen but one person shuffle exactly 
that way when he walked. Yet how came it to 
be he? Anyhow, I would wait to see. Sure 
enough, it was Philip Shredds. 


XI 


Philip occupied a house of two rooms; one 
room was set squarely above the other. The 
lower room accommodated odd bits of iron and 
of tin, old wagon-wheels, pieces of chains and 
other rubbish that Philip had gathered from 
various places about the city. In fact, the lower 
room was his store-room and the upper one his 
living-apartment. The ascent to the second 
story was made by means of a ladder. Once 
there one found a lounge in one corner, a stove 
in another, boxes in which were stored a large 
amount of canned goods, a few dishes, a basket, 
a lamp and some rags. It was several weeks 
after my meeting Philip that I paid him a visit. 
I had asked him the same question before, but 
I repeated it: 

‘ ‘ How r on earth did you happen to come ’way 
here?” 

“I don’t mind tellin’ you, Stella,” he an¬ 
swered; “I wanted to go where nobody would 
know me. After the farm was sold it seemed 
like bad luck, bad luck, had it in for me. Lost 
some o’ my money that yer paw had paid me. 
I was ashamed to stay on there where I would 
be looked down on, after livin’ at yer house fer 
so long. I was pestered some that away. So 
one day I lit out without tellin’ nobody where 
I was goin’. I knowed I wasn’t a-goin’ to the 
83 


84 


THE CAMEO LADY 


dogs, as some made out they thought. Lived 
with decent people too long for that. I meant 
to hold up my head and git a business for my¬ 
self. You know how it was; we didn’t have 
much use on the farm for anybody that didn’t 
have a business.” 

I wondered if the reverses had affected Philip 
mentally. He was not strong in that respect 
to start with. Yet he often surprised me with 
a bit of shrewdness. I had been thinking over 
his case since the afternoon I met him and he 
told me where he was living and something of 
his employment. So I determined to satisfy 
myself by a closer view of his proceedings, and 
then I wondered if I could manage in any way 
to take the poor, forlorn creature under my 
wing. 

His appearance alone was enough to enlist 
my sympathy, and arouse indignation, too. The 
creature went about in roughly patched shirt 
and pajamas whose jagged edges struck him a 
little below the knees. His lower legs were bare 
to the tops of his shoes. His shoes were some 
that had been picked from a trash barrel. His 
hat was a wide-brimmed felt, with rolled edges 
and what looked like bullet holes through the 
crown. It also was a trophy of the trash barrel. 
His whiskers, from brown to a dirty white, were 
three or four inches in length and made a half¬ 
moon of his face. When the opportunity pre¬ 
sented itself, I inquired: 

“Philip, can’t you dress any better?” 

‘‘Dress better, you say?” he answered. 
“What’s wrong? Bad business to live beyond 


THE CAMEO LADY 


85 


yer means. My business furnishes my clones 
straight out. I sell enough of the wares down¬ 
stairs to buy some o’ my eats—see them cans? 
—and, as fer the rest, well, I manage to stay on 
good terms with the garbage man.’ ’ 

“Philip, Philip!” 

“Now, I don’t eat bad stuff,” spoke up Philip 
with a slight stammer. ‘ 4 The garbage man puts 
the good in a sack by itself. It’s astonishin’ 
how much good stuff folks throws away. It’s 
pore management in them, o’ course, but when 
a smart man comes to town an ’ kin git a livin ’, 
in part at least, from where they’ve fell down, 
why, it works out all right.” 

“My, my! to think he’s come to that,”I said 
under my breath. Then I asked: 

“Philip, do you rent your house?” 

“Well, no’m, Stella; I’m above livin’ in rent¬ 
ed property. How come you to think I could 
come to that after livin’ at yer paw’s fer as 
long as I did, and a’lookin’ on that place as 
my home? No’m, I thank you! Philip saved 
enough money to buy himself a home. He owns 
a home like a gentleman. In spite of what peo¬ 
ple said he’s not goin’ to the dogs. He owns 
his own home and he’s got a business that fur¬ 
nishes his livin’.” 

I rose from the chair in which I had been 
sitting. It was the only one in the room. Plain¬ 
ly, Philip did not expect to entertain visitors 
when he furnished his house. While I stood in 
the floor deciding what to say, and whether or 
not I had better go along about my own busi¬ 
ness, Philip asked me with concern: 


86 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“ Where ’re you livin’ at?” 

“I’ve just been wondering if we couldn’t 
manage to live in the same house,” I said, 
avoiding a direct answer to the question. “I 
am thinking of moving into a large house where 
I shall have rooms to rent. There will be a 
good deal of work to do. You could help me 
and I would help you. You would like that bet¬ 
ter than your present business, wouldn’t you?” 

Philip hesitated a minute before answering. 
When he spoke, he said: 

“ Well, Stella, it looks to me like it’s my duty 
to be the protector of you and yer little girl. 
There ain’t nobody else that I kin see. Yer 
husband made sech a fizzle, from what I’ve 
heerd. I never did like that match fer you no¬ 
how. I told you at the time you’d better marry 
the doctor, but you wouldn’t pay no ’tention to 
me. People are likely to get hard-headed about 
who they marry, I ’spose. Anyhow, the fence 
is done kicked down, and that lets you an’ the 
little girl out in the road. While it wasn’t no 
fault o’ mine when you wouldn’t take my ad¬ 
vice, it ain’t becomin’ of me not to fergive 
you. ’ ’ 

“Well!” I answered hysterically. That was 
all I could thing of to say. 

“When a man gets a business,” Philip ran 
on, “he’d better stick to it. It’s his pervision 
’gainst want. Mebbe though I could combine 
business and duty. I might help around your 
house and run my own business too. Now, 
that might be great, come to think on it. Fbl- 
lowin’ duty is an old thing, I ’spose—but this’s 


THE CAMEO LADY 


87 


hard to beat. When do you want me to come ? ” 

“I don’t know exactly. I haven’t quite de¬ 
cided about the house. I ’ll let you know. ’ ’ 

Very soon I descended the ladder and was 
off. 

I had been looking for another job, and had 
failed to find anything very promising, though 
I had gained experience which enabled me to 
get something or other. The idea of taking a 
rooming-house came into my head and stayed 
there. It seemed a formidable undertaking. 
Perhaps I would not be equal to it. But I had 
gained a little in courage. Anyhow, I must not 
idle. I must do something. So, from the home 
of Philip, I went to look at rooming-houses. 
My search among them resulted in my finding 
a house that I thought would do. It was al¬ 
ready fairly filled with roomers, and, on the 
whole, was the best proposition I had seen. I 
was in the act of deciding upon it while I was 
yet in the hall, when the front door opened, and 
in walked—my husband. 


XII 


I wondered if all the world had moved to that 
remote city because I came. Now as I was 
beginning "to feel that I could make my way, 
though I still expected rough places in the road 
I had to travel, here came my husband. I did 
not think of the man who entered the rooming- 
house, while I was standing there talking to the 
real estate agent, as being any one I knew, and 
so I did not take a second look at him until he 
started up the steps. Then his back was toward 
me, and I did not know whether he recognized 
me or not. There he was, anyhow! If I took 
that rooming-house he would be there, spelt in 
still bigger letters. I noticed that his clothes 
were shabby. That sign was opposed to his 
prosperity, particular as Rufus had been in his 
dress. If I took that house, with him in it, it 
would mean—what? That’s what I did not 
know, and that’s why I hesitated. As I saw the 
matter, it could mean nothing pleasant. Turn 
because of him! I did not know which was the 
way of wisdom. If I had loved Rufus, as I once 
wished I could do, I suppose there would have 
been no question in my mind as to what I would 
do. If love were then out of the question, then 
how much farther away it was now. The deci¬ 
sion must come of the head and not of the heart. 
There was, however, one sure thing that glared 
88 


THE CAMEO LADY 


89 


at me, and that was the fact that I had to have 
a means of support. I believed that rooming- 
house was the best chance I had, and I might 
have it on long, easy terms. So, after sleeping 
over the matter, I decided to take the house. 

Upon moving in, I set about my work with the 
intention of allowing circumstances to aid me 
in the renewed acquaintance with my husband. 
I was in the house a week, and saw Rufus some¬ 
times when he came in and sometimes when he 
went out, but I did not yet know whether he 
recognized me or not. There was no reason 
why he shouldn’t if he chanced to look at me. 
At last one day he came straight into the room 
that I called my office. I was sitting at the 
desk. I had just received the weekly payment 
from one of my tenants; but the tenant had 
left the room, and there was no one in there at 
the time except myself. 

‘ ‘ I’d like to ask you a question, Stella,’ 9 were 
the words with which my husband greeted me. 
“Why under the sun did you follow me here? 
I thought by coming ’way off to the city nobody 
would ever find me. Now you’ve come to the 
very house where I’m living, and I understand 
you are running the house. Did you follow me 
up in the first place, thinking you would make 
me support you? If that’s the case, I can tell 
you right now that it is as much as I can do 
to take care of myself. ’ 9 

“No; I didn’t,” was all I could say. I was 
indignant. 

“Well, then if you didn’t come for that pur- 


90 


THE CAMEO LADY 


pose, I ’spose it’s all right. You are running 
the house, are you?” 

“I am.” 

I hadn’t recovered from my indignation, and 
I made my answer short. 

4 4 You expect me to pay you the same as any¬ 
body, do you?” 

“I have to meet expenses, and the room you 
occupy is a part of my stock in trade. ’’ 

‘ 4 Which is saying that you expect me to pay 
you. ’ 9 

“Why not?” 

“It’s kinder small of you, Stella, I think, to 
make me pay you for a room when you’ve got 
a whole house full of ’em.” 

Evidently Rufus had gone down in the scale 
of manhood. I believed there was a time when 
he would not have thought of talking that way. 
He would not have taken that view of the situa¬ 
tion. 

‘ ‘ This is the day to pay, ’ ’ he continued, ‘ ‘ but 
I haven’t go the money in hand now.” 

He turned towards the door, hesitated, and 
then went out. 

“My stars!” I exclaimed, and jumped up 
from my chair to gain relief. “I see what it 
will be. I see now well enough. It means that 
I shall have to support him. Great day! and 
all the rest. Now, that’s terrible after the time 
that I have had myself. I am of good notion 
just to ask him for his room.” 

At that point in my soliloquy there was a tap 
on the door and a lady entered. The lady wore 
a black velvet suit and a hat covered with 


THE CAMEO LADY 


91 


ostrich feathers. A pink and white complexion 
was deftly concealed a bit behind her veil. She 
looked young, and yet I was aware of the arts 
that made her so. She was a roomer in the 
house when I came, and I learned that she was 
a semi-invalid. One would not guess that con¬ 
dition by looking at her. She was pleasant, 
even cordial in her manner to me. On that 
occasion she inquired: 

“How are you today, Mrs. Dale!” Then 
she laid a bill on the desk, saying it was her 
rent. She brought with her a strong odor of 
perfume. “You will pardon me for being per¬ 
sonal,’ ’ she remarked, “but do you know what 
you remind me of?” 

“About the most undesirable thing I could 
mention, I have no doubt; but I don’t know 
what to call it. ’ ’ 

“No; you make me think of a cameo; some 
rare specimen. Your clean-cut features and 
your high-born expression. Pardon me, Mrs. 
Dale; but to me you seem out of place in the 
work you do.” 

“That’s because I do not do it the best in 
the world, I suspect.” 

“Not that at all. It’s that you belong to a 
different sphere. Where you would best fit 
would be in the position of a society queen. 
Whenever I see you, I invariably think of a 
cameo.” 

“That’s surely enough to lift one’s spirits,” 
I said in grateful recognition of the compliment 
that the Plumed Lady, as I thought of her, paid 
me. “I’ll try not to be very bad after that. 


92 


THE CAMEO LADY 


I mean where you will find it out,’ ’ I concluded 
with a little laugh. 

“You couldn’t he. It’s as plain as day in 
your face that you have fought battles and have 
won them, that you have come out on the noble 
side. You could not wear that cameo face of 
yours and do otherwise.” 

The complaint was like a soothing lotion to 
a sore, though I feared the lady saw me through 
some special medium of her own. 

“I must see my doctor today,” the Plumed 
Lady declared in a changed tone of voice. “I 
am very nervous this morning. Have you ever 
suffered from nervousness! Terrible, dread¬ 
ful! Still Doctor Folk has helped me more 
than any one else has done. You are a stranger 
here, aren’t you! I want to tell you if ever you 
get sick you must send for Doctor Folk. ’ ’ 

“Doctor Folk!” I repeated; making the 
silent comment, “Well, I guess I won’t.” 

The Plumed Lady passed out of the room at 
one door and Philip entered at another. 

“Oh, she’s gone, ain’t she!” Philip said in 
a dejected manner. “I wanted to ask her about 
Doctor Folk. I wonder if he’s my doctor! Do 
you s’pose he lives here! Gracie and me was 
listenin’ at the keyhole and heerd what the 
lady said.” 

“Philip, if ever you let that lady or any one 
else in this house, see you dressed that way, 
I’ll disown you sure.” 

I shook my fist at the offender as I used to do 
sometimes when I was a girl and he displeased 
me. 


THE CAMEO LADY 


93 


“Now you get into that suit I showed you, 
whenever you are here—the first thing! You 
shave and have your hair cut, too. I can’t have 
you around looking like that. ’ ’ 

Philip took my storming as meekly as pos¬ 
sible. I supposed he hadn’t had anything like 
that in a good while. Finally he asked: 

“You don’t mind if I keep this what I got 
on as a business suit, do you?” 

“If you are attached to it and think it’s ap¬ 
propriate, you may do as you like about that; 
but you don’t wear it around here.” 

“When will the lady be back, you ’spose?” 

“ I do not know. ’ ’ 

“I have to shave, you say?” asked Philip in 
dejected tones. 

“You certainly do. Philip!” I called, as he 
was leaving the room, ‘ 4 have you seen anything 
of my new curtain-rods, the ones I brought 
home yesterday and you and Grace were look¬ 
ing at?” 

“Oh, yes; them shiny little fellers.” 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t know. Gracie and me didn’t do 
nothin’ with ’em. Did we, Gracie? Yer maw’s 
little—what do you call ’em?” 

Grace was in the adjoining room, playing 
with her toys on the floor. 

“Philip laid ’em back on the table, Mother, 
when we got through looking at them—the very 
place where he found them. You mustn’t fuss 
at Philip, Mother; he’s good.” 

I knew that the kindness and attention of 
Philip was already enriching the life of my 



94 


THE CAMEO LADY 


little girl. I could recall what they meant to 
my own childhood. Grace stood much more in 
need of them than had I. I appreciated that 
in Philip’s character, to be sure, but the poor 
soul had a provoking side also. It was that side 
which ruffled my temper, as it did of yore, but 
it called forth memories of bygone days and 
after all proved a blessing to me, and I thought 
to Philip. 

Shortly I set about work in the linen closet, 
which was on the second floor, and gave no 
more thought to Philip or to Grace, until the 
two thrust themselves upon my notice simul¬ 
taneously. I heard people passing about the 
house, but that was a usual occurrence and 
there was nothing in it to attract especial atten¬ 
tion. So I was not aware that the two scamps 
paid a visit to the room of the Plumed Lady 
until Philip came rushing into the linen closet 
where I was, with Grace in his arms. They both 
laughed so much that I was obliged to wait a 
while for an explanation. I certainly wanted 
an explanation of Philip’s fantastic costume, 
though he wore the suit that I had ordered him 
to put on. In addition he wore a corset on the 
outside, which I had certainly not ordered him 
to wear, and a much-trimmed hat besides. 
Gracie held my lost curtain-poles in her hands. 

“Whenever you can tell it, out with it,” I 
said at length. 

“You won’t get mad now, Stella, will you?” 
Philip begged. 

“I don’t promise. What have you done?” 

“Don’t scold Philip,” pleaded Grace. 


THE CAMEO LADY 


95 


‘‘ Well, sir, I thought she had come back— 
that lady, you know, ’ ’ spoke Philip in explana¬ 
tion. 4 4 So I dressed up in my duty suit, and 
me and Gracie went to call on her, but she 
w T asn’t there. We knocked several times. Then 
we opened the door and marched in.’ ’ 

4 4 Why in the world did you take it into your 
head to pay a visit to that lady?” 

44 Well, that’s a secret me an’ Gracie has. I 
have heerd you say it wasn’t best to tell all you 
know. So ’taint. We had a very nice time, 
anyhow. We seen a heap o’ curious things. I 
tried on some of ’em, and Gracie tried on some. 
I looked in the closet and found yer curtain- 
poles.” 

I took the little brass rods that Grace held 
out to me. Sure enough they were either mine 
or exactly like them. They were mine, for there 
was my address on the wrapper, as I had told 
the clerk to write it. How strange! 

44 There were lots of other things in there,” 
continued Philip. 4 4 Have you lost anything 
else?” 

44 Not that I know of.” 

4 4 Here’s my doll that you brought me, ’ ’ said 
Grace, holding out that article so that I could 
see it. It was the doll that had mysteriously 
disappeared. 

44 Oh, I’d never believe it of that lady,” I 
spoke, betraying my astonishment. Then after 
second thought, I added: 44 She’s afflicted. Be¬ 
cause of her affliction she takes things that do 
not belong to her, even things she has no use 
for. You must not mention the discovery to 
any one in the house, or to any one anywhere 


96 


THE CAMEO LADY 


else, either of you. Do you hear? Philip, how 
do you account for the corset and the hat?” 
I added with a little severity. 

“I was jest dressin’ up in them to let Gracie 
see, and we seen the woman comm’ along the 
sidewalk, an’ we knowed she’d ketch us ef we 
didn’t light out. Listen. There she is now. 
In her room. Glad we got out. Ain’t you, 
Gracie?” 

“Yes,” answered Grace, from the chair on 
which she had been placed, and laughed. 

Philip proceeded to remove the articles of 
clothing that he had borrowed of the lady. 

“I’ll take them back the next time she goes 
for a walk,” he announced with decision. 

“You mustn’t do things like that. The room¬ 
ers will find out and they will all leave. ’ ’ 

“Jest remember I wouldn’t have got into this 
scrape ef it hadn’t a been Gracie an’ me had 
to see the lady on business. We have got to 
see her yit sometime.” 

“What business, I’d like to know, have you 
and Grace got with the Plumed Lady? ’Tend 
to your own business and keep out of trouble.” 

“You will like it, Mother,” said Grace, “but 
we are not goin’ to tell you about it.” 


xm 


One day a little later Philip answered the 
door-bell. I was not aware whether he knew 
who it was that rang the hell or not. Anyhow 
he admitted the caller, and then dropped to his 
knees and embraced the legs of the man. 

“Likely I wouldn’t have been alive ef it 
hadn’t been fer you,” he said at length. 

“Get up and tell me about yourself,” re¬ 
marked the man, laying his hand on the shoul¬ 
der of Philip. “Hope you have found life good 
enough to be glad I saved it, if save it I did.” 

‘ ‘ Things haven’t gone so smooth with me, fer 
that matter, Doctor,” answered Philip, rising, 
“but I am not sure how much worse off I might 
have been without you. I don’t believe I’d a 
known you ef I had met you out somewheres,” 
Philip added, after a survey of Doctor Folk. 
“You are lookin’ a little older. Doctorin’ peo¬ 
ple ain’t the easiest business in the world, I 
take it. After you’ve seen the lady upstairs 
(I ’spose that’s who you have come to see) I 
wisht you would take a look at Grade. ’ ’ 

“Grade?” repeated the doctor with a rising 
inflection. 

“Grade Dale—Stella’s, Miss Stella’s, little 
girl, you know. Poor little critter can’t walk. 
If anybody kin cure her I know you kin. You 
see, I stand as her protector now; Miss Stella’s 
and hers! ’cause they haven’t got nobody else 
to count on. So it has become my duty. Before 
97 


98 


THE CAMEO LADY 


you leave, please, be sure to see about settin’ 
Grade to walkin’.” 

“All right, all right. I shall be gad to do 
anything that I can.” 

The doctor moved toward the stairs. Philip 
kept watch in the hall, awaiting the return of 
his friend. At last he was able to lead Doctor 
Folk to the room where Grace sat in her 
wheeled chair, dressing her doll. As the doctor 
entered, a man rose from a seat near Grace. 
The two men stood for a moment, staring at 
each other. Neither was sure who the other 
was until Philip accomplished the feat of in¬ 
troducing them. Philip said: 

“This is Doctor Folk, the great doctor that 
saved me for a life of usefulness, an’ this other 
one is Grade’s paw—what was. His name is 
Mr. Dale.” 

The doctor extended his hand, and Rufus 
took it. It was the first knowledge that Doctor 
Folk had of the presence of Rufus in the house, 
or of his whereabouts at all. I had never seen 
the doctor myself when he had called at the 
house to attend the Plumed Lady. So, since I 
had taken the house, we had known nothing of 
each other except what was told us. 

The two men seated themselves near the 
wheeled chair, and Doctr Folk opened a con¬ 
versation with Grace. Philip stood near. 

“You can make me walk, can’t you!” Grace 
asked. “Philip said you could. You mustn’t 
tell Mother. We want to see what she will 
say.” 

The doctor lingered a half-hour, perhaps, and 
then rose to leave. 


THE CAMEO LADY 


99 


44 What you think?” Philip inquired with 
deep concern. 

Doctor Folk did not answer Philip then, but 
looked at Rufus. Rufus did not open his mouth 
until the doctor was quitting the room, and 
then he said , 4 4 Good-day, sir. ' ' Philip followed 
to the hall, where he learned that Doctor Folk 
considered it necessary to consult me. He 
showed disappointment at that turn of affairs, 
but he yielded. He went from one room to 
another until he found me, and then hastened 
to conduct the doctor to me without giving me 
notice of his coming. I held a broom in my 
hand at the time, and was arrayed in dust-cap 
and apron. The doctor smiled as he entered 
the room. The smile may have been one holding 
out hope to me of that which he came to speak. 

44 I understand that you do not know what is 
in the wind, ' ' he said. 4 4 Come, sit down. 
Philip, good fellow, you may go dong. I think 
it can be done. Not sure, but think so. That's 
what you want to know?” 

Philip jumped several inches from the floor. 
Upon coming down he repeated his antics. He 
ran from the room, banging the door behind 
him. 

44 From what I have learned of the child,” the 
doctor began, 44 I believe an operation will en¬ 
able her to walk. I'll have a more thorough 
examination before I decide positively on the 
operation. The condition is an unusual one.” 

44 Any particular danger in it?” 

44 I think not. No more than attends the 
average operation. I don't see why you have 
not called my attention to this before.” 



100 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“Kindness itself, my dear sir; but have you 
no idea of the fitness of things ? Didn’t you 
meet my husband in there?” 

“Yes, and I was a little staggered at the 
time. I thought he was gone forever.” 

“I believed he was still alive.” 

“I make a guess that you are in more need 
of help than you were before he turned up. ’ ’ 

I burst out crying. I couldn’t help it. Doc¬ 
tor Folk laid his arm around my shoulders, 
saying: 

“That’s all right. Just cry ahead. It will 
do you good. You have had a hard road to 
travel, and your feet were tender, too. If you 
hadn’t been possessed with rare spirit you 
would have given up to crying, only crying, 
long ago.” 

I did cry. The doctor remained silent with 
his arm around my shoulders. As my storm 
subsided, he said: 

“There is no reason in heaven or on earth, 
that I can make out, why I shouldn’t be a friend 
to you. It seems to me that circumstances 
directly and strongly give me that sacred trust. 
If I were a bear, or worse, I can see how you, 
a refined woman, would want to have nothing 
to do with me; but I am not. I claim to be a 
gentleman. ’ ’ 

I wiped my eyes and smiled into his face. I 
wanted to hug him for his pure goodness. At 
that moment the latch clicked and the door 
opened, and there stood—my husband. Rufus 
looked straight at me for several minutes—an 
age, it seemed, and then he said: 


THE CAMEO LADY 


101 


“I thought it must be somebody. I didn’t 
know who.” 

Doctor Folk jumped to his feet. 

“If you breathe a word of slander against 
this pure woman, I ’ll put you where you ought 
to be,” he said fiercely. 

“No; I won’t say anything about it,” Rufus 
answered in mild tones, leering at me; “that 
is, if you will let me stay on here.” 

“Confound your hide, man; you have sunk 
low!” 

“Be careful what you say, sir. I might tell 
what I just saw.” 

“You saw me trying to comfort the best 
woman in the world, whose life you have 
spoiled. Furthermore, you should know that 
the restoration of your own child was under 
consideration.” 

“That’s just a blind.” 

The doctor hurried out of the room, and im¬ 
mediately left the house. Rufus laughed an 
accusing laugh, and turned to speak to me. I 
ran from the room and up the stairs, into the 
linen closet, and turned the key in the door. 

Afterwards I kept out of the way of Rufus, 
for I realized that words multiplied would avail 
nothing. I believed that he was heartily glad 
to have some circumstance against me, if an 
occasion should arise wherein it would be to 
his interest in any way to use it. Circumstances 
did hold a good deal in hand for me, it seemed. 

Rufus was on the down grade generally. 
Sometimes he appeared to be considerably in¬ 
toxicated. If, as my business improved he 
would be only half-way respectable, I came to 


102 


THE CAMEO LADY 


tell myself, I would be willing to support him; 
especially if he were not able to take care of 
himself. I kept his room tidy. His clothes 
improved under my care, without mentioning 
them to him. I did not know how much money 
he made, or how much he spent. The longest 
conversation that was ever held between us 
lias already been recorded in this history. I 
avoided him, and he seldom spoke to me even 
when he saw me. 

To return to Grace and her chance of walk¬ 
ing. One day a cab stopped in front of the 
door, and Doctor Folk and a nursQ from the 
hospital came in. I opened wide my eyes in 
astonishment and inquiry. The doctor answer¬ 
ed by saying: 

“What was the use of causing you worry 
beforehand? We want to take little Grace with 
us. I’ll keep you informed about her.” 

“May I not go along?” I asked breathlessly. 

“Don’t want you.” 

The outcome was that I got the child ready, 
and Philip carried her to the cab and placed 
her in it. 

“Now, Gracie, ef they don’t treat you right 
at the hosspital, jest you let ’em know that 
you’ll tell Philip,” the much interested friend 
said in parting. 

“All right,” answered my darling, laughing. 
“Goodbye, my dear old boy. Goodbye, 
Mother.” 


XIV 


Needless to say that I spent an anxious time 
for a while. I had great fear of the operating 
table. I won’t live it over by telling about it. 
It’s enough to pass through a thing like that 
once, and glorious to know that it is over— 
successfully over. My precious child lay in the 
balances for several days. Then the weight in 
favor of recovery pulled the scales. Even af¬ 
terwards the act of walking was deferred for 
months. It came then only after most careful 
attention. Sometimes when I would see her 
during a visit, lying abed, looking very weak 
and frail, still without use of herself, I would 
grow disheartened over the possibility of her 
ever walking. Finally skill and patience man¬ 
ifested their powers. However, it was neces¬ 
sary for Grace to remain at the hospital for 
weeks and weeks. It seemed years to me. Only 
there could she receive the necessary aid. Yet 
it was well worth my anxiety. Think of her 
being able at last to walk! During a visit that 
I paid her, she requested: 

“Mother, the next time you come, bring 
Philip with you—won’t you? I want him to see 
me walk. ’ ’ 

The little patient was then learning her first 
steps by the aid of the nurse. Soon Philip 
went with me to the hospital. He showed his 
delight over the feat that Grace accomplished. 

103 


104 


THE CAMEO LADY 


He had made anxious inquiry of me constantly 
concerning her progress. Neither could he get 
away from the hospital without giving vent to 
the pride that he took in his own wisdom. 

“Didn't I tell you, Grade,” he said, “that 
my doctor could cure you? Philip knows more 
than he gits credit fer sometimes. Don't you 
fergit it!” 

While Grace was still in the hospital Rufus 
began staying in his room more and more. 
When I first noticed the change I wondered if 
he were ill; but, at the same time, I suspected 
something worse. For with Rufus conditions 
did not seem to mend. I sometimes wondered 
if I were to blame. Yet I honestly believe that 
that was a morbid view for me to take. I un¬ 
derstood full well that the world was hard to 
meet, and that it required courage and strife 
to win in the battles of life. I knew that Rufus 
was at a disadvantage by nature, by training 
and by the force of circumstances. I sometimes 
thought that Judge Dale should be made to 
realize the mischief that his own course had 
wrought in the life of his son. Anyhow, I came 
to be sure that Rufus was giving himself up to 
drink. Again arose the question of what I 
should do. I could not have a drunken man 
lying around the house, and I could not send 
my own husband away! Besides, there was no 
place to send him that I could think of. One 
day, however, Rufus went out of his own ac¬ 
cord and did not come back. Afterwards, he 
was picked up from a railroad track where he 
had fallen asleep, and, in his drunken sleep, 
run over by the train. Philip suggested that 


THE CAMEO LADY 


105 


we lay the body in a corner of the lot on which 
stood his house. I was grateful for the sugges¬ 
tion. There we placed it. 

What could I have done without Philip ? He 
was a part of my old home—the only part that 
was left me except that which was held in 
memories. I was trying one day to plan some 
way, or to find some way, to meet my expenses. 
They had run ahead of my income—away ahead 
when I included Grace’s sojourn at the hospital. 
I wished very much to he independent, and not 
accept charity even from Doctor Folk. There 
may have been a portion of false pride in my 
attitude. Still, whatever it was it was there. 
As I was about to despair of finding a means 
of escape Philip came into the room where I 
was, dressed in his business suit, as he called 
the fantastic costume in which I found him, 
carrying a basket on his arm. In his hand he 
held a torn newspaper. From it he read: 

“To be sold for taxes: A thirty-acre field 
belonging to the estate of H. K. Battle. Where¬ 
abouts of heirs unknown.” 

“My country, Philip!” I exclaimed. “Where 
did you get that?” 

“Where I git all my readin’ matter. I git it 
as I go along about my business.” 

“Then you picked it out of some barrel of 
rubbish?” 

“Yes’m.” 

“Let me have it.” 

I reread what Philip had spoken aloud, and 
then I looked at the date of the paper. Why 
had I forgotten that thirty-acre field! It had 


106 


THE CAMEO LADY 


never occurred to me that taxes had to be paid 
on it. Would a message be too late? I meas¬ 
ured the cost of a railroad ticket with the 
amount in my purse, rather with the amount 
that I thought I could command. Then the 
strangeness of Father’s request to hold on to 
that field came over me. He must have had 
some good reason for it. It wasn’t like him not 
to have, in spite of the fact that people called 
him eccentric. 

“Philip,” I said, “what do you know about 
that field? Did anything in particular ever 
happen there that you know of?” 

“Anything ever happen? Nothin’ ever hap¬ 
pened there that I know of, unless it was just 
pilin’ up some stumps. Your pa had me to 
haul all the stumps off the farm and pile ’em 
there. Why?” 

But I did not answer at once. By and by I 
turned to Philip again and asked: 

“Did you ever know Father to work around 
there among those stumps ? ” 

“Can’t say I did. Hold on; yes! I recollect 
seein’ him come away from there about dark 
once. But what of that?” 

The idea had never occurred to me before, 
but the thought then bore hard upon me that 
I should investigate the contents of that field. 
I began to think I would never be satisfied until 
I did so. Anyhow, there were the taxes. Oh, 
my! 

“Philip,” I answered, “we have got to go 
home—you and I.” 

“Great!” exclaimed Philip. 

I at once set about my preparations. First, 


THE CAMEO LADY 


107 


I sent a despatch to a county official in regard 
to the taxes. Then I went to the hospital to 
see Grace before I left, and dropped by the 
office of Doctor Folk for a minute. I excused 
myself for going to see the doctor by thinking 
that he should know where I was, on account 
of Grace. Then Philip and I set out. 

Upon arriving at the old home I had contend¬ 
ing emotions to deal with. Finally Philip and 
I reached the thirty-acre field with spade and 
pickax. I had told Philip only a little about 
what we would do. He was puzzled over my 
wanting the tools, and still more puzzled upon 
my telling him to roll aside the stumps. 

“Now, Philip/’ I said, “hold up your right 
hand and swear that you will never open your 
mouth to a soul about what we do here today.’’ 

“You are not goin’ to tell me to dig up any¬ 
body’s bones, air you?” 

“Nobody’s bones. You are the only person, 
Philip, that I can trust to help me in this. So 
you are never, never, to mention it to a soul. 
You hear?” 

“I won’t tell it, if you say not; but it’s 
spooky business.” 

‘ 6 I don’t know myself what we will find. Roll 
away the stumps and let us see what is be¬ 
neath. ’ ’ 

“I put these stumps here. Mr. Battle had 
me to get ’em up off’n the farm an’ haul ’em in 
an’ dump ’em here. You want all of ’em rolled 
away?” 

“Yes; let us make a thorough job of it.” 

“Well, here goes.” 


108 


THE CAMEO LADY 


Upon taking the spade, Philip stared at me 
and then asked: 

4 4 Stella, can there be anything wrong with 
you up here, you ’spose?” 

He tapped his forehead with his finger. 

4 ‘The idea! You go dong and do as I tell 
you. There is nothing the matter with me— 
but I have told you that I didn’t know what we 
would find.” 

So Philip began throwing aside the earth 
without more ado. Perhaps two feet down he 
struck something with his pick that caused him 
to stop short and say: 

“There ’tis. You shore ’taint nobody’s 
bones? I’m powerful scared.” 

The truth was I felt anxious myself in more 
than one sense to know what was hidden there. 

4 4 Somebody’s bones, ’ ’ declared Philip. 4 4 You 
see that box!” 

4 4 It would be a small somebody who could 
get into that box. ’ ’ 

44 By Job, but it’s heavy!” 

Philip managed at length to get the box to 
the surface. It was made of galvanized iron, 
as well as I could judge the material. It was 
about two feet long, by a foot broad and a foot 
high. The lid was held down by means of a 
rusty padlock. Philip succeeded in breaking 
the lock. There was my treasure! It was sil¬ 
ver coin. I did not attempt to count it. I 
went to wondering what I should do with it, 
how I should move it. While I hung over the 
box, Philip fell to digging again. 

44 There,” he announced, 44 is another. I 


THE CAMEO LADY 


109 


wonder how many boxes of money you’ve got 
here.” 

That receptacle proved to be precisely like 
the other and was filled in the same way. By 
the time the second box was opened Philip 
was wild with enthusiasm over the number he 
might find. So he dug away and dug away 
until I was well satisfied that the two boxes 
were all. I ordered Philip to replace the soil 
in the opening and roll back the stumps, so 
that no unusual sign would be left to point out 
our work. My puzzle over moving my wealth 
was then solved by sending Philip for new 
locks and chains with w T hich to fasten the boxes. 
While I sat there alone with my treasure, I 
thought of Father and realized that he had 
done for me just about what I had wondered 
why he had not done. He was a hero. That 
I knew. He did not miss the intricate places 
that life offers to be filled. 

Philip borrowed a wagon from the owner of 
the farm, and managed to get the boxes to the 
depot without attracting undue attention. It 
was fortunate that the amount was placed in 
two boxes instead of in one. Doubtless Father 
had considered the weight. My wealth was 
shipped to the city. 

I decided to tarry a few days in the old neigh¬ 
borhood, for I did not know when I should ever 
be there again. While I was there I accident¬ 
ally met Emery Humphry. Emmy happened 
to be back at his old home on a visit. He vras 
fat and almost forty. He wore a diamond ring 
on his finger, and looked the picture of health 
and prosperity. There was a beautiful young 


110 


THE CAMEO LADY 


woman, flaxen-haired and charming, whom he 
called his wife. She lived in the town to which 
Emmy went upon leaving the farm. 

During a conversation my old friend remark¬ 
ed: 4 4 Stella, in the leisure hours of my busy 
life I often recall the good times that we had 
together in the days before the storms of life 
were upon us. I need sometimes to get back to 
them in order that their sweetness may keep 
the bitter of the present from corroding my 
better nature. ’ ’ 

“Emmy,” I answered, 44 sometimes, when I 
look back on it all, I wish I had never seen ten 
miles beyond my first home.’ ’ 

4 4 There is no standing still, it seems. There 
is gain to be had thereby, Stella, even though 
we may pay a price for it.” 

44 Oh, yes! I understand.” 

4 4 1 told you in the old days what I thought of 
you then. So I intend to tell you what I think 
of you now. I love my wife, but the love I am 
able to give her is due in part to the sweetness 
you brought into my life. She ought not to 
object to my saying that you fulfill in the 
woman the promise of the girl. You do so, if 
you have had a rough road to travel; and 
probably so because of that roughness. If I 
may sum you up in a few words, I’d call you 
4 The Cameo Lady’—for your value and your 
beauty. ’ ’ 

44 Emmy, you are a balm to my soul,” I an¬ 
swered; 4 4 not because of your flattery, but be¬ 
cause through it I perceive a friend in you 
still. ’ ’ 

When I reached the city again, I kept on the 


THE CAMEO LADY 


111 


watch for my boxes until they arrived. Then 
at short intervals I deposited the money in a 
bank, until at length the greater portion of it 
was safe, as I thought. I knew I ran some 
risk in keeping so large an amount at the house 
as I kept there for a while, hut I found com¬ 
fort in the thought that no one would suspect 
me of having it. 

Grace grew able to leave the hospital. She 
would walk from the front door into the room 
just to show Philip what she could do. I asked 
for the bill there, and paid it. My! how great 
it felt to be independent. Doctor Folk learned 
that I had paid the bill at the hospital, and so 
one day he came, on purpose to quarrel with 
me, it seemed. For he said: 

“Now I should like to know if you have been 
borrowing money for the sake of being inde¬ 
pendent? Of course, I am hurt that you won’t 
accept from me. Yet aside from any personal 
feeling, I want to advise you against borrow¬ 
ing money. Don’t begin the habit, if you can 
help it. ’ ’ 

I teased him a little. Then I told him of my 
marvellous wealth. In the first place it was a 
very good ten thousand dollars. In the second 
place it seemed to me like a fabulous amount. 
The doctor heard me through, and said he was 
glad that I was happy and independent; but he 
didn’t seem happy himself. When he left, he 
even said that he hoped he would meet me 
again some day. 

“Meet me again some day!” 


XY 


I troubled over that “Meet me again some 
day” until one morning I decided I would find 
out what it meant. I had not seen Doctor Folk 
since he said it, and several weeks had passed. 
In the meantime Philip had inquired of me 
more than once what had become of the doctor. 
He then got ahead of me in an interview with 
that gentleman. He dropped down on Doctor 
Folk, taking pains to make it appear, appar¬ 
ently, that his visit was unpremeditated. But I 
knew that he went for the purpose of saying 
exactly what he said, which was: 

“You know, Doctor, I am the protector of 
Stella, Miss Stella, and her little girl. I don’t 
want to leave any o’ my duty undone. Some¬ 
times when I knows a thing—I knows it.” 

There had been other parts in the conversa¬ 
tion, like the other things that go with the tur¬ 
key, but the turkey is the central figure. So, 
to repeat merely the turkey portion, Philip 
added: 

“I knowed Stella ought to have took you in 
the first place. I told her so, but it didn’t do 
no good. Girls at the marrying age air quare. 
Still, it ain’t becomin’ for you to hold it against 
her. She had a bad time of it, as you know, 
an’ she’s not one o’ them high an’ mighty sort. 
I believe she’ll have you now ef you’ll ast her.” 

“I don’t think so,” Doctor Folk answered. 
“I really don’t think she wants me; that’s the 
112 


THE CAMEO LADY 


113 


truth. She might take me out of what she 
would think of as gratitude, for the little she 
would let me do for her and Grace. She is 
independent now; can do as she pleases and 
have what she likes. No, Philip; I don’t think 
she wants me. I wouldn’t marry any woman 
unless I believed I could add to her happiness.” 

“Gracie an’ me w^ant you. We need you in 
the family. We’ve talked it over, me an’ 
Gracie has. Stella ought not to he so hard- 
headed, an’ I intend to tell her so.” 

So on the same day on which I thought I 
would try for an explanation of that 4 ‘ Meet 
you again some day,” before I could get to it, 
Philip accosted me. 

“Stella,” he said, “you air a smart woman 
about most things, I ’low, but if you don’t take 
the doctor this time you may never git another 
chance at him. Better listen to Philip. He 
knows a lot sometimes.” 

I told Philip to mind his own business. Yet 
I determined to have a talk with the doctor the 
next time he called to see The Plumed Lady. 
I believed his feelings were wounded for some 
reason. After all his kindness, and everything, 
I could not let him think that I had intention¬ 
ally hurt him. So on that very day after he 
saw The Plumed Lady, I called to him as he 
was on his way downstairs. I was in the linen 
closet, as it happened. I poked my head out 
and said; 

“Doctor, please may I have a few words 
with you?” 

He stopped and bowed politely. 


114 


THE CAMEO LADY 


“What’s the matter with yon?” I asked. 
“What have I done to hurt your feelings?” 

“Hurt my feelings?” 

Then the matter began to get straightened 
out. Pretty soon, well, the doctor stepped in¬ 
side the closet just so he could hear me a little 
better, I ’sposed. If he weren’t happy over the 
way that matter straightened out, I couldn’t 
tell the difference. I’ll declare I couldn’t! 

To say that I was elated after my trying ex¬ 
periences of life might indicate a lack of sane¬ 
ness in that happiness. Yet by putting aside 
the things that were behind me, I found happi¬ 
ness possible. As time went by, the strong, 
manly love that was mine did more than any¬ 
thing else could have done to heal the old 
wounds. 

It should be added that on every anniversary 
of my marriage to Doctor Folk, Philip has not 
neglected to say: 

“I was the one who made the match. Wasn’t 
I, Doctor?” 

The doctor has answered invariably: 

“You doubtless had something to do with it, 
my good fellow.” 

To me he has said: 

“I can see only the one woman in all the 
world—and she’s my Cameo Lady.” 



















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